


Obake Itoko

by Kineil_D_Wicks



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014), Big Hero 6: The Series (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, I have been so excited about this fic you have no idea, Inspired by Lilo & Stitch, also may have taken a sledgehammer to canon, also references to Meet the Robinsons, heavily inspired, idk yet, will have illustrations, young punk Obake gives me life okay?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2020-05-20 12:20:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19376602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kineil_D_Wicks/pseuds/Kineil_D_Wicks
Summary: Aunt Cass had volunteered for an adoption program months ago, enough that Tadashi and Hiro had moved on to worrying about other things.  Now, however, a month after the fire at SFIT, Hiro is reminded of it when Aunt Cass is contacted to say she’s next on the list.  Hiro’s not sure what to make of this quiet punk kid, but he knows one thing: this guy will never replace Tadashi.  BH6 AU with Lilo and Stitch vibes.





	1. Save Your Generation

**Author's Note:**

> *deep inhale*  
> Okay, so I have spent the past several months writing nonstop BH6 fanfiction, ever since watching most of Season One—I say most because I unfortunately and against my better judgment fallen irreparably hard for the main villain of the season, Obake, despite repeatedly telling myself not to get attached. As you can guess, I do not listen to myself.  
> As such, most if not all of my BH6 fanfictions have involved changing the dynamic or playing with AUs—this one randomly hit me on the head, that of a Lilo and Stitch flavored AU in which young-punk Obake is the same time as Hiro and friends. Hopefully this will help fill the void of Obake-centric fics (seriously, there’s less than a dozen here guys) and eventually help me to work up enough nerve to watch the Season One finale—I’m not ready to have my heart broken again, guys. ;^;/  
> So this will be crossposted to FanFiction.net because I'm still active over there (despite my update history saying otherwise). And we're going to be having illustrations because yes. :D And a big hearty reference to Meet The Robinsons here in the first chapter as well.  
> Updates will be spotty until September, only because I’m finishing up my Ph.D.—work before pleasure, guys. T-T But I’m so close….
> 
> Big Hero 6 © 2014 Disney  
> Lilo + Stitch © 2002 Chris Sanders; Disney  
> Meet the Robinsons © 2007 Disney

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You have to learn to learn from your mistakes_  
>  You can afford to lose a little face,  
> The things you break, some can't be replaced.  
> \--"Save Your Generation," Jawbreaker

There were a number of things Hiro Hamada did not need, in the wake of Tadashi’s death.

Too much time to himself was one—with the explosion on SFIT property, the school was closed and wouldn’t open until next semester, after the summer break. Even if he wanted to go to school now, he couldn’t.

Too much emptiness was another—the bedroom he had shared with Tadashi practically echoed now, and he hated to look at the one section of the room, steadily gathering dust.

And now this other snag.

Aunt Cass had, a while back, volunteered for an adoption program designed to streamline the adoption process—the Cornelius Robinson Initiative, he remembered vaguely—the reasoning being that it was a good thing to do and would help someone that needed the help.  Tadashi and Hiro had spent many a night discussing what it would be like, having a brother or a sister, which one of them would be the cool brother (they both were assured that the other would _not_ be), and then arguing about whether or not it would be a cousin, since Aunt Cass was—well, their aunt.  Months had gone by without a response, so they had thought nothing of it after a while.  After all, they had other things that had preoccupied their focus.

And now, a month after Tadashi was gone, she had been contacted and informed she was next on the list.

Hiro had exactly no enthusiasm for this.  This felt too much like replacing Tadashi, even if it had been plotted out over a year in advance.  He wanted to resist this on principle, to go back to sulking in his room.

Mostly because it was too bright out, when it really should have been permanently gloomy ever since Tadashi was gone.

“Okay,” Aunt Cass sighed after almost an hour’s worth of driving throughout hilly San Fransokyo.  “I know you’re not excited about this…and really there should have been….”  She shook her head, continued.  “Just—try to keep an open mind, okay?”

Hiro sighed, staring out the window he was leaning against—it wouldn’t be fair, he decided. It also _wasn’t_ fair, but…he supposed he could _try,_ for Aunt Cass.  He nodded, finally, causing her to smile in the rearview mirror at him.

Here was hoping it wouldn’t suck.

 

Aunt Cass had concerns, not the least because of how Hiro might take it.

But Hiro was at least trying to be fair, trying to put on a smile as they went in.  Within a few minutes, Cass and the adoption lady at the welcome counter had gone over the niceties and the basics and were now moving on to the nitty-gritty.  That is, trying to describe the sort of personality they thought would fit in their home.

Cass mostly wondered how she could describe Tadashi without tipping Hiro off—or at least, the basic points of Tadashi that had best kept Hiro out of trouble.

“We want someone…responsible, mature…grounded,” she said, straining for proper adjectives— _someone who won’t die_ flitted through her mind, but fortunately she caught it before it left her mouth.  “Someone reliable, someone…sturdy.”

“Like a robot,” Hiro piped up suddenly.

Cass had to take a moment, turned and crouched, hands on Hiro’s shoulders.  “Hiro, our electricity bill is high enough, a robot will make that worse, _we are getting a kid_.”  She popped back up, hoping her smile wasn’t strained.

The adoption lady smiled, looked at Hiro, lifted the little flap in the counter that would let them go back.  “Would you like to go back there and introduce yourself?  We still have a little more paperwork to sort out.”

Hiro looked at Cass.  “Is this where I find out you sold me to the adoption company?”

 _“Hiro!”_ Cass hissed, appalled.  She shot an apologetic look to the adoption lady, who shrugged, keeping her expression professional.

Cass redirected her attention to Hiro.  “You’re not staying, you’re just going back there and chatting, see if there’s anyone back there you want to come home with us, okay?  Okay,” she said quietly, giving him a thumbs-up.  “Now go on, pick someone out.”

Hiro sighed, went back behind the counter and down the hall.  She couldn’t help but fret a little as she watched him go.

Here was hoping.

 

Hiro glanced behind as he went, having only been half-joking about being left here—right now he felt empty enough that one more blow wouldn’t surprise him, he thought.

He reached the double doors at the end of the hall, nudged one open—shoved it open a bit further and peered in.  “Hello?”

Well…it was a large room, nice, posh—probably not the actual orphanage, just a place where kids came for a bit while meeting with families.  But then again, maybe it was—he had heard that the head of Robinson Industries had been adopted as well—maybe this was why he was putting in the extra mile here, what with the fireplaces (that currently had no fire), ornate pillars, and plush furniture.

There was also no one in here.

Hiro frowned, stepped in, glancing around…was everyone hiding or something?  “Hello?” he tried again—went further in as he continued to receive no answer.  “Is anyone in here?”

 

He was busy with a laptop he had reappropriated when the sound of someone calling out interrupted his flow.  Glance up with irritation—he thought he had chased everyone else out.  Idiot children.

No—whoever this was, he was new—scrawny, gangly, would be over a head shorter than he if he were standing, messy black hair, currently looking around in confusion.  Trajectory suggested he had come from the doors leading to the counter.

Which might mean….

He made his decision—snap his laptop shut and make himself known.

 

Hiro was just getting ready to try the other door to see if the kids who were supposed to be here were elsewhere when a snap made him jump—spin around—

Blink in surprise at the sight of a kid stepping out from behind some furniture.

“Where did _you_ come from?” he had to ask, looking the other boy up and down—army-fatigue-colored backpack, gray hoodie, dark pants with the cuffs turned up; gangly and skinny like him, but he looked to be at least a head taller.  Hiro really couldn’t tell if he were older or not—he didn’t look like he had any baby fat on his face like Hiro did, not with those sallow cheeks.  Very punk though, with a couple of earrings (clip-on, by the looks of them) and his hair trimmed short on the sides, top long and combed down over—Hiro couldn’t help but wince at the bandages on the left side of his face, fully covering the eye and most of that side.

“Uh, h-hi,” Hiro tried, waving a little—he wasn’t sure if it was makeup or what it was, but the dark around the other kid’s visible eye gave him an intense look, even if he was currently smiling.  “I’m…Hiro.  H-Hiro Hamada.  Ah…w-who are you?”

There was something a little off about the way the kid smiled at him.

“Obake.”

 

They had just finally finished going over all the forms, the adoption lady sorting them while they sat in a couple of the chairs in the lobby.  At least it wasn’t as extensive as when she had signed up for the program, Cass reflected—what she had had to fill out was draining enough.

“Oh yes,” the adoption lady was currently assuring Cass, nodding.  “All our children are adoptable.”

“Oh good,” Cass sighed, glancing at the hall—one more sip of tea and she’d be going back there to see how Hiro was doing—

Was surprised to see him coming out already, hand clasping the hand of a taller skinnier kid, leading him over to her.

Was even more surprised by the adoption lady’s gasp and then yell.  “EXCEPT THAT ONE!”

“Wait, hold up, what?” Cass asked, jumping to her feet as the adoption lady dragged the boy away from Hiro—she winced at the sight of his face.  “Who is this? Is he okay?”

“I don’t know—John Doe, came in this morning—he was in an explosion about a month ago.”

Cass had her hands on Hiro’s shoulders, could practically _feel_ his eyes widen.  “You were in—” she looked down to see Hiro beaming up at her.  “I like him—I say him.”

Cass looked at the adoption lady, who looked down at the boy, who looked up at her with an entirely done expression, even if it was only through one eye.

“Are you sure?” Cass asked, gesturing between them.  “Are you _both_ sure?  Because you know, once we sign the papers, that’s it, he’s family.”

Hiro was smiling—the first genuine smile she had seen on him in _weeks_.  “Yeah, he’s good—I can tell.”

Cass shrugged at the adoption lady, who looked equally baffled.

A few minutes later, they were on opposite sides of the counter again, addressing more paperwork.

“So what’s his name?” Cass asked. The adoption lady shrugged—ah, right, John Doe.

“Obake,” Hiro supplied, the boy in question standing behind and to his left.

Cass made a face at him—seriously? Ghost?

“He said his name’s Obake,” Hiro told her, shoulders twitching a little in a shrug.

“He doesn’t talk, dear,” the adoption lady said.

“He said his name’s Obake,” Hiro insisted.

Cass looked at the adoption lady, shrugged, wrote _Obake Hamada_ on the form.

“Welcome to the family, Obake,” Cass told him, smiling.

Hiro and the boy both beamed at her.

Well, here was hoping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illustrations and next chapter as soon as I can get a chance guys, but I'm SUPER excited for this. :D
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Seriously I don’t think y’all understand how much effort it took to wait until now to post~~


	2. House of Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Those thoughts of past brothers  
>  They'll always haunt me!_
> 
> \--"House of Memories," Panic! at the Disco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I initially wrote the Hamadas as owning a car because my brain blipped and recalled there was a backseat, and it took a few viewings of the movie and the episode "The Bot Fighter" before I remembered that yes, it's a truck, and yes, it has a backseat (extended cab is the term). My own car has a cover, so that's my reasoning here, since the garage is obviously the boys' domain.  
> So now we've brought Obake home....

The ride home was almost ridiculously silent, in Cass’s opinion.

Despite Hiro’s enthusiasm at the adoption center, every time she glanced in the rearview mirror it was to see Hiro on one side of the backseat and Obake on the other, both as close to their respective doors as possible and staring out their windows.  Well, expecting them to be super-friendly right away was a stretch, she supposed.

Now if only it wasn’t so _awkward_.

It was an hour’s drive back to the café, and for half of that she had been trying to ask Obake simple questions— _how was he, what food did he like, did he like movies_ —nothing.  Not even simple responses like Hiro would give when he wasn’t engaged.  Doesn’t talk indeed.

And then there was that look she had caught him giving the adoption lady on the way out, and the look _she_ had been giving _him_ —if she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought that the adoption lady had been _glad_ to see the back end of him.

Not for the first time, she wished Tadashi were here—Tadashi would have been sitting in the back seat, both of them in a headlock, cajoling some interaction out of them both, to the point where she would have had to _beg_ for them to tone it down.  Tadashi always had that special knack for teasing some life out of a person—with him gone, it felt like all the energy had been sucked out of the house.

She sighed, considering her options.  “Hey—Tuesdays are a little slow for the café anyway—how about we just skip the dinner rush, big welcome-home dinner?  Any favorites or preferences, now’s the time to bring them up!”

Hiro leaned away from the window a little to look at her.  “Hot wings?”

“Okay, that’s a start,” Cass said, glad it had gotten a rise out of _someone_.  “Obake?  How about you?”

Obake looked at her, had to turn his head a little farther than usual because of the bandages over his left eye, shrugged a little.

“Okay, so it’ll be a surprise,” Cass said.  “And I was thinking today and tomorrow we just all get situated, maybe I call a doctor to have that eye looked at.  Do you know what’s wrong with it?”

That look he had given the adoption lady ghosted over his face briefly and he went back to looking out the window.  Great.

“Hey, just want to make sure it doesn’t get infected or anything,” she said, splaying her hands along the wheel briefly.  “Ah, there we are!  The Lucky Cat Café,” she announced, pointing it out as she drove around to her alley parking (the garage itself had long ago been taken over by Tadashi and Hiro).  “Hiro, why don’t you show Obake around the house while I put the cover on the truck?”

“M’kay,” Hiro noised, unbuckling himself and sliding out of the backseat.  Obake imitated the process, walked around the back of the truck, Hiro waving at him and directing him into the house, pausing briefly to tug the key out of its hiding spot before unlocking the door and slipping inside.

Obake glanced at her before following him in.

“Okay,” Cass noised, brushing herself down before going to the back to get the cover.  “Just—new kid, have to get used to him, he probably has his own quirks and…oh, what am I _doing?”_   she wailed, struggling to keep her voice down as she looked skyward.  “I could hardly handle two boys I was _related_ to—whatever possessed me to think about adopting a third?”

Because it had been a good idea, she thought—the Cornelius Robinson Initiative was primarily targeted at finding forever homes for teenagers, because of how hard it was to place them normally.  The founder himself had been adopted right there at the cutoff point, knew how awful it was to look down the barrel at just ageing out of the system with no real hope of finding a family outside of marriage or shelling out for an investigator or DNA test.  She, herself, had thought it a grand idea—give someone who needed it a sense of belonging.

And when she had decided to go with it, it had been with two well-behaved (for the most part) boys, one in college and one getting ready to go to college.  They’d probably be out of the house most days, and she wasn’t ready for empty-nest syndrome.

And then Hiro had not wanted to go to college, had gotten into bot-fighting instead…oi that gave her gray hairs.  And then Tadashi had gotten him out of it, had gotten him focused on SFIT—the nerd school, as they both called it—things had been going _so great_ —

And then the fire.  The explosion.

And Tadashi.

Hiro had shut down completely after the funeral—she had barely been able to get him to eat, let alone get out of the house.  And of course, _now_ she had gotten the call.  _Now_ there was a second kid in the house again, when he was supposed to be the third.  Now, with the absolute _worst_ timing.

At least Hiro had shown some enthusiasm again.  Honestly, she was surprised at him practically dragging that poor skinny kid back up front—probably took one look at him and decided that he was in desperate need of some good cooking.

Okay, just—deep breath, be here now.  One day at a time, one step at a time.

It was all she could do.

 

Okay, in retrospect, Hiro wasn’t sure _why_ exactly he had thought this might have been a good idea.

Obake, as the boy had identified himself, had seemed a cool pick to invite to their house, the fact he was the only one there notwithstanding.  But after a quiet ride home with him, Hiro was seriously beginning to question his own logic here.  But…he had promised Aunt Cass he’d give this a shot….

“Okay…so,” Hiro noised, kicking off his shoes in the foyer. “This is the uh, the foyer, yeah.  That door’s the garage—that’s where me and Tadashi—it’s more of a machine shop now,” he said, not wanting to revisit that pain again.  Not right now.  “So…through here’s the living room—that’s Aunt Cass’s bedroom up those steps, and that’s the bathroom,” he said, pointing out the doors as he led the other kid through the house—was Obake even older than him?  It was hard to tell.  “And through here is Aunt Cass’s café—we call it the Lucky Cat.”

“Mrow.”

“And there’s the lucky cat now—hi, Mochi,” Hiro said, kneeling to pet the tubby calico.  “This is Obake—say hi?”

Mochi looked up at Obake, blinked once, twice—maneuvered around both in search of Aunt Cass.

“Yeah, cat thing,” Hiro said, standing.  “Over there’s the kitchen—it’s got access to the side alley for deliveries—and then up here’s mine and Tadas—my room.”

He led him up a flight of steps to a landing, up the next flight of steps to his and Tadashi’s room, gesturing at the beds and the desks.  “So…yeah, that’s…pretty much it.  What do you think?”

He looked at Obake, caught him looking at Tadashi’s bed—ran to tug the partition closed.  “Y-yeah—that’s…that _was_ Tadashi’s and…we’ll figure out something else, okay?”

The way Obake looked at him was devoid of emotion, like someone who was only paying attention because it was the polite thing to do.  Glance at the rest of the room, eye lingering on the abandoned plate that Aunt Cass had brought up that morning, before she got the call.

“Uh, yeah, that’s—kind of forgot about breakfast, what with…maybe we should go downstairs and see about lunch,” Hiro said, rubbing the back of his neck as he picked up the plate of cold food, still ninety-percent full—he hadn’t been eating well ever since Tadashi had…ever since the fire.  “Uh, yeah.  Come on, Aunt Cass is probably in by now.”

He led Obake back down the steps and to the kitchen, where he dumped the food and put the plate in the dishwasher—Aunt Cass came in just as he was shutting the door, dusting her hands off.

“All right, who’s hungry?” she asked.  “I’ll make us something quick and then we can go all-out for dinner, get to know each other, maybe a movie or one of those party games—oh, Obake, do you have any allergies?  Hiro’s got a minor one to peanuts so I have to check.”

Obake twitched a shoulder in a shrug.

“So maybe—gotcha,” she said, going to the fridge.  “Let’s see, sandwiches?  Cold cuts, cheese, day-old tuna fish—someone start letting me know if the suggestions are sounding good.”

Hiro glanced at Obake—still standing there and looking like he was only paying attention because he had to.  Hiro himself wasn’t all that hungry still, but he felt like he had to do _something_ before Aunt Cass started to flounder under the lack of response.

“Half a tuna fish sandwich with pickles?” he asked.

“Ooh yeah, good choice—go get some potato chips.  What about you, Obake?  There’s also egg salad—”

_That_ one finally got a reaction out of Obake: an expression of absolute disgust.

“I think that’s a _no_ on the egg salad,” Hiro translated, looking back at Aunt Cass.

“All right, nix on the egg salad,” she said, putting it back.  “What about potato salad?”

Now it was Hiro’s turn to make the grossed-out face.  “Uh, think that’s another no.”  Might as well take advantage when he could.

“What about ham and mayo?  Got a nice fresh one.”

She and Hiro both looked at Obake, who shrugged.

“I’m gonna take it,” Aunt Cass decided.  “Let’s do it.”

 

Lunch had been spent with Aunt Cass trying to get something else out of Obake while the two boys nibbled on their sandwiches with no enthusiasm.  Well, first day, just met, needed to get used to each other, right?

After lunch she sent them into the living room for “TV, movies, video games, whatever floats you two’s boats” before retreating to the kitchen and heaving a sigh of relief.  Kitchen, cooking, putting ingredients together to make something tasty and good and beautiful—she knew this, she could do this.

She started on the hot wings first, getting them marinating before moving on to making the guts for dumplings—dumplings were always a good choice, she figured, especially with the right sauces.  Get the dough started, stuck her head in the living room to see the boys watching _Ducktales_ , sitting on opposite ends of the couch and neither one looking very thrilled to be there.  Ouch.  Duck back in, get a bowl of potato chips and a couple of sodas, go back to the living room and drop them off on the coffee table, announcing snacks before going back to the kitchen.  Open the fridge—ah, that’s right, the fresh fish—good California poke coming up!

“Mrow.”

“You’ll have to wait your turn, Mochi,” she told him, deftly stepping around him to continue working.  Put the fish back in the fridge to marinade, cook up the remains for stock, roll out the dough, set some aside to slice thin and fry up, start separating and rolling out for the dumplings.  She had a full tray when the stock was done—turn it off, let it cool as she got a pot of oil out to heat up.

Cooking was calming—she was in control of the kitchen when she cooked, and it let her focus on something and put off thinking about whatever unpleasant thing was threatening on the horizon (unless, of course, it was fresh and there—in which case, stress-eating).  She had cooked a _lot_ after Tadashi and Hiro had come to live with her—when they had finally regained their appetites, she was pretty sure they had immediately gained ten pounds.

She couldn’t help the sigh that snaked out of her at that, as she fished the remains out of the stock and put them in the grinder for Mochi—Hiro, young as he was at the time, didn’t understand why they couldn’t just go home; Tadashi, older but going through the same pain, had been the one to cajole Hiro into calming down and giving life with her a chance.  Tadashi had been forced to bury his own grief to get Hiro through his, and she hadn’t fully realized it until months later when it finally lashed back out, still raw and boiling.

It occurred to her that she was putting Hiro through the same thing right now.

She stuck her head back into the living room, saw that they were watching _Zootopia_ now, sodas open, Hiro occasionally commenting on the movie.  Obake still seemed disengaged, somehow, like he wasn’t entirely there.

_He was in an explosion about a month ago_ —she wondered if that had knocked something loose, something important.

It was why she was looking up the boys’ doctor while she waited for the oil to heat, writing down a note to call her when the oil started bubbling, had the dumplings all set and was working on rice when something occurred to her.

_He was in an explosion about a month ago_.

The explosion that had killed Tadashi was about a month ago, now.

She looked back at the living room, considering.  Had he been caught in that explosion, had his memory knocked clean out of him?  That would explain the John Doe status, the lack of communication…except Hiro had said that the boy had _told him_ his name was Obake.

That still made her frown, a little bit—who, precisely, named their child _Ghost?_ Not that she had any experience in naming children, unless Mochi counted, but that seemed a little…odd.  The strong Asian culture of San Fransokyo often meant that such names weren’t unusual, but…it also meant that the parents were _aware_ of what the names meant.  Calling a kid _ghost_ …seemed like it was begging for trouble.

She shook it off, checked the clock…had enough time to do some prep work for tomorrow, she thought.  One more peek into the living room—Judy and Nick were in the old asylum, and Hiro was hugging a pillow to his chest, riveted; Obake seemed _maybe_ a _bit_ more engaged.

Well…first day.  Things could only go up from here.

She hoped.

 

Dinner had been a spread, a very impressive spread that three people could not be reasonably expected to eat, especially with two boys with much reduced appetites and one very gregarious woman.  She had been carrying the conversation through most of the dinner, to the point that he almost felt sorry for her.

Almost.

After dinner, she had gone through the whole house, it seemed, before coming up with a small rolled-up mattress, some blankets, and a pillow, invited them upstairs to pick out a spot—behind Hiro’s bed, close to the partition separating the dead brother’s stuff from the rest of the room sufficed.  Put his backpack there to show that yes, it was fine, try smiling—she liked it, Hiro seemed a little torn.  His little façade was starting to wear thin, he suspected.

After that, he found himself with a toothbrush and toothpaste thrust on him— _sorry we don’t have anything in your size Tadashi was a little bigger than you and Hiro’s a bit too small don’t worry we’ll get something_ —try to wave her off to assure her it was fine, ended up directed to the bathroom and told not to take too long because Hiro had to get ready for bed too—oi.

The fresh toothbrush cut into his gums and left him with a bleeding mouth that took a while to rinse out—straighten up when he was finally able to spit a color other than pink, consider himself in the mirror.  Looking like death warmed over, good eye looking like he had been punched in the face after going about a week without sleep.  Well, nothing like living up to your name.  Deep breath—twinge in his chest, ribs hadn’t quite healed yet.

Took a few minutes to practice a gracious/grateful smile, reminding himself to toss in a few bows too while he was at it— _Hamada_ meant they might react positively to such a show of respect.  Brush his fringe back a moment, let it flop back, scrub the sink dry and put everything as it was before finally leaving the bathroom, head first to scan the room—twitch in surprise at the sight of Hiro waiting outside, leaning against the wall.

“Yeah, hi,” Hiro said, waiting for him to move before heading for the bathroom himself.  “Aunt Cass said something about cookies.”

More food—what was this, fattening him up to eat him?

Again, the peppering about what he was like—at least cookies were also over Uno, which he kept winning handily.  Hiro, to his credit, got serious after the first couple of games, doing his best to try to beat him.  This boy promised to be engaging, at least.

Or he would, if Obake had any intention of sticking around.

‘Aunt’ Cass eventually had to call it a night, shuttled them upstairs to bed, tucking in Hiro and kissing him goodnight, despite his muted protests.  Hesitated at Obake.

“I don’t know, I don’t know how comfortable you would be, with that, on the first night,” she said, hands waffling.  He solved that problem by shrugging and burrowing underneath the covers.

The next hour still had quite a bit of sound—Hiro kept shifting around like he was thinking about striking up a conversation and then deciding against it.  Cass, downstairs, was moving around, sounding like she was still doing some work in that café of hers.  Eventually, the sounds all wound down and the lights clicked off, and soon the only sounds were coming from outside, the natural heartbeat and flow of the city.

He figured he’d give it some time, first—relax, wind down, take stock of himself like he had been for quite some time now.  Everything still where it was supposed to be, fortunately. Hopefully—the one eye was still a question mark.  Ribs hurt when he laid on them, which was to be expected; legs ached if he were on them too long, left arm still had twinges sometimes—pretty sure at this point the only things holding him together was Divine Grace and personal spite.

And of course, the question of what to do _now_ —what had gone wrong?  How had he ended up here—things had been going so _well!_

Well, almost—that one professor had had concerns, had pointed them out—but he had thought that had been squared away, was pretty sure that had been squared away—he had been almost certain everything was finally turning up aces.

So of _course_ something had gone sideways.

He stared at the dark ceiling, bleary shapes suggested by the light pollution outside, going over every last thing leading up to that explosion.  Nothing that would have suggested such catastrophic failure was forthcoming.  And then the other burning question—how much of his stuff could he salvage?  Was any of it still waiting for him?

There was at least _one_ way to find out.

Obake checked his watch again—almost one o’clock.  Hiro’s breathing sounded even—time to go.

He rolled to his stomach, gently lifted himself up to look—yes, totally sleeping.  Grab his bag and sneak for the stairs, hand out in case he bumped into something in the dark, feet gingerly questing in case there was something there he didn’t see—hadn’t even bothered to take his shoes off.  Not when he was planning to run the first chance he got.

His toe bumped against something solid and boxy against the wall—he maneuvered around it, hissing—

Hiro made a noise in his sleep, not quite a snore, but loud enough to make him spin around, freeze—

He watched for the longest time, it felt like—started gingerly backing away, hoping that Hiro stayed asleep—something made him glance down—

A light on the front of the thing he had bumped into was flashing—he backed up faster—

His foot slipped—

And suddenly he went crashing down the short flight of steps with a yelp, landing with a thump and a low groan at the first landing.  Oh, man, he hoped no one had heard that….

He stayed breathlessly quiet, ears straining—didn’t hear anything at first, had hoped that it meant he could sneak away as soon as his leg stopped throbbing—

Froze when he heard a small mechanical noise— _whipf whiph wipf wiff—_

Something white appeared at the top of the stairs—

For one stupid moment, Obake thought it was a ghost—that he had woken up the dead brother somehow—

Except ghosts didn’t hesitate at stairs, looking down at the first step carefully before gingerly stepping down, repeating the process until it was on the landing with him.  Up close, he could see that it wasn’t a ghost—if he didn’t know any better, he’d say he was sharing a landing with a marshmallow with eyes.

And then it gave a little circular wave.

_“Hello,”_   it intoned.   _“I am Baymax, your personal health care companion.”_

Obake stared at it, currently pressed against the wall as far away from it as possible without falling down the _next_ flight of steps—what was this, a robot?

It continued, undaunted by his lack of a response, flashing an emotion scale onto its belly, bright enough to make him wince a little.  _“On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?”_

Honestly?  Maybe a four—not that he was going to _tell_ this thing anything—

He flinched at a brighter light, realized when he threw his arm over his eye that it was the hall light right before he heard Hiro gasp.

“Ah!  Baymax!  What are you doing—”

Obake rubbed at his eye, squinted through the light finally—Hiro was frozen a few steps down, having spotted him—eyes flicking from Obake, to the backpack that had slipped off his shoulder when he fell, his shoes, the marshmallow robot, back to Obake—

Hiro’s expression was transparent, in the way his eyebrows sank and his mouth twisted, sigh coming out—it had taken maybe five seconds for him to put two and two together.

_“I will scan you now,”_   the marshmallow robot—Baymax—said, unmindful of the sudden tension.

“Uh, Baymax?” Hiro noised.  “Maybe we can continue this downstairs—get something from the kitchen.”

Obake moved to get up—

The robot was right there.

_“Since I have yet to scan you, I do not recommend you moving on your own,”_   it declared, before scooping him up—Obake was treated to a very long and arduous decent down the steps.  He glared over its shoulder at Hiro, who had paused to pick up his backpack before following.  Hiro, for his part, evenly returned the glare as he followed.  Obake eventually had to resign himself to crossing his arms and huffing, shoulders around his ears.

This was _not_ going to plan so far.

 

Obake had been deposited in a chair in the café, subject to the whims of the robot Baymax as Hiro went into the kitchen proper.  Said robot scanned him, started listing the number of things wrong with him—like he didn’t know that already.  The bruised shinbone was new, only because he had acquired it recently.

Baymax was applying a cold hand to it when Hiro came back with two glasses of milk.  Obake watched as Hiro sat down, pushed one over, took a drink of the one he kept before wiping his mouth, splaying his hands against the table, staring at the glass like it had all the answers etched there.

“Look,” Hiro sighed finally.  “I get it.  You don’t want to be here.  It’s just—don’t do this to my aunt Cass.  She’s…in a really tough place right now and…just don’t.  Just…give her a chance, all right?  She doesn’t need this—she doesn’t need the…any of this.”  He sighed, looked down, looked back up.  “Just…please, just give her a chance before you run out.”

So Hiro was a bit more observant than he first gave him credit for.  And more worried about his aunt than himself.  Pity he was asking for more than Obake was willing to give.

Baymax looked up, blinked, looked at Obake, then at Hiro.  _“Hiro, my scanners indicate that you are: stressed, and upset.”_

Doing a good job of hiding it, if you asked him.

Hiro glanced at Baymax, glanced away.  “It’s nothing, Baymax.”

_“I have very little in my health-care matrix on: emotional health.  However, I can see it is affecting your: physical health.”_    He looked at Obake, back at Hiro, down at Obake’s leg.  _“I will remain active.  You both are in need of care.”_

“What?  No—Baymax!” Hiro yelped, nearly spilling his milk; Obake idly wondered if he’d cry over it.  “Don’t—you have to get back in your charger!”

_“I am in no current danger of my batteries running dry, and you are in need of assistance.”_

“No, Baymax—just— _ugh,”_   Hiro noised, flopping back in his chair and rubbing his eyes.

_“You are tired,”_   Baymax observed.  _“It is important that you get: eight to ten hours of sleep per night.”_  Look at Obake.  _“Milk is a high source of calcium, which is important for your bones.”_

Obake wondered how the robot would react if he threw the milk on it, decided not to test that theory; glare at it the best he could with one eye while he sipped at his glass of milk, mildly glad Hiro couldn’t see the expression with the half of his face covered.  He didn’t need to be treated to a whole lecture on how he should be _nice_ to the _robot_.

Hiro carted the glasses to the sink when they were done, and Obake was treated to the indignity of being carted back _up_ the stairs by the robot, which had gotten no faster in taking the steps.  By the time the robot reached the top of the stairs, it was to find that Hiro was already there—and had hidden his backpack.  Narrow his eye at Hiro, who ignored his glare and pointed at the bed they had set up.  He heard the robot blink, and then it was an annoyingly long wobble over—he tried struggling, couldn’t get any traction against the vinyl—soft and squishy it might be, but it certainly had a good grip on him, right up until it deposited him on the bed.  He scrambled away, glaring at them both.

Hiro shrugged.  “It’s more comfortable on the bed,” he said, before looking at Baymax.  “Baymax, if you’re not going to deactivate, will you at _least_ make sure he doesn’t try to leave again?”

Baymax blinked at him.  _“It is important that you both get adequate sleep.  I will do so.”_

Obake stood, glaring at Hiro, who was currently glaring back at him, arms crossed.  He wondered idly how much effort it would take to disable the robot.  The vinyl might succumb to a knife, and the head might be where most of the processing information was—it was where data was classically stored in a robot—made it so easy to—

_“Tadashi.”_

He and Hiro both blinked, looked over to the robot, halfway to the steps—it was currently looking at the partition.

Hiro hesitated.  “T-Tadashi’s…gone, Baymax.”

The robot blinked, turned a little to be better facing Hiro.  _“When will he return?”_

“He’s…not, Baymax.  It’s the…it’s the permanent kind of gone.”

The robot blinked again, looked at the partition.  _“Tadashi was a young and healthy individual.  With proper diet and exercise, he should have lived a long and healthy life.”_

“Yeah,” Hiro muttered, tugging his sheets back.  “He should have.”  He climbed into bed, tugged the covers over his head as he laid down.  “I’m going to bed.  You two can do whatever.”

The robot blinked at Hiro, looked up, blinked at Obake, looked over, blinked at the partition…scanned the room before toddling over to the computer.  Obake hesitated, started for the stairs—the robot stopped to look at him.  Freeze, back up to the bed and sit down.

The robot went back to its focus on the computer.

Obake sat there a long while, considering.  It wasn’t like whatever was in his backpack wasn’t easily replaceable.  He could escape.  Maybe.

He looked at the partition, over at the lump under the covers, where Hiro was definitely still awake.  Just his luck he picked a fully shattered family, shards still poking everywhere.  What was he, the replacement?  Some attempt to fill the gaping void this person had left?  He should have stuck with his initial plan.

Unfortunately, he had no choice now.

Exhale long and through the nose, climb under the covers, and pick the position of least discomfort, with the intent of staring at the ceiling until exhaustion overtook him.

He wasn’t getting anywhere tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Researching dishes for Cass's scenes make me want to try California poke, I swear.  
> Looking up blueprints for the Hamada house and then trying to piece them together with the layout shown in the movie and TV was a bit frustrating, so we may have some fudging here and there. ^^;  
> And the irony of picking Ducktales and Zootopia at random and that was basically what was on the TV this past Independence Day....


	3. This Isn’t a Scene, It’s a Bot-Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I'm not a shoulder to cry on, but I digress—_  
>  _I'm a leading man and the lies I weave are oh so intricate..._  
>  —"This isn’t a Scene, It’s an Arms Race” by Fall-Out Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, chapter 3! Finally finished Chapter 4 of my dissertation for all but a little editing so I felt like posting a chapter to celebrate. :D  
> Big Hero 6 © 2014 Disney  
> Lilo and Stitch © 2002 Disney  
> Wreck-It Ralph © 2012 Disney  
> The Iron Giant © 1999 Brad Bird (“You’re already up?” “Just making my bed”)  
> Toy Story 2 © 1999 Pixar (“Oh well we tried”)

Hiro woke up the next morning through no desire of his own—just the sound of Aunt Cass down in the kitchen getting ready to open the café.  Ugh, why was he so tired….

Oh right—Obake.  The kid they had brought home who was planning to run as soon as their backs were turned.  Great.  He rolled over to check, saw Obake’s mohawk over the top of his sheets.  Well, at least _that_ was still there.

He rolled over the other way to see a giant marshmallow blinking down at him.

_“Good morning,”_   Baymax greeted.

Hiro yelped in alarm, flailed back—ended up falling out of bed, jerking Obake awake and earning a glare.  Baymax waddled over, peered down at him.

_“On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?”_   Baymax asked.

“Zero,” Hiro said, grimacing as he struggled upright.  “What are you doing?  Why aren’t you in your charger?”

_“I have spent the night downloading information on dealing with emotional trauma,”_   Baymax informed him.   _“As well as expanding my health-care matrix.  I am now better-equipped to help you both reach full health.”_

Hiro glanced at Obake, who gave the robot an exhausted, disgusted _done_ face before flopping straight back into bed with a groan.  Hiro felt that on an emotional level.

“Hiro?” Aunt Cass called up.  “Are you guys awake?  I’m making breakfast!”

_“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,”_ Baymax said.

Hiro groaned.  “Just making my bed!” he called down.

“Okay! Ready in five!”

Great. And as much as he’d love to crawl back in bed and go back to the way things were two days ago (or even better, two months ago), he still had one minor—no, scratch that, two minor issues: getting Baymax back in his container and dealing with Obake.  And it wasn’t like he could go about with what had become his usual listlessness with Obake around—at least, not if he was supposed to _stay_ around.

He flipped his covers back into place, made a half-hearted attempt to smooth them out, walked by Obake’s bed on the floor on his way around his own…paused, considering the maybe-older boy doing his best to go back to sleep.

He flipped up the bottom of Obake’s covers, grabbed him by his ankles, right above the Converses, and yanked him out of bed—despite being taller, he felt like he weighed less than Hiro, and came out of the bed and partially onto the floor with a yelp.

“If I can’t sleep in, you can’t either,” Hiro told him, hands on his hips.  “Now get up.”

Obake glared at him as he struggled upright, throwing his balled-up covers at the bed—Hiro kept a close eye on him as they headed down the steps, Baymax toddling behind.

“Uh, wow,” Hiro noised when they reached the café, only to find a big spread again.  “She…usually doesn’t go this all out….”

“All right, breakfast is ready!” Aunt Cass said, coming in with two more plates—and then jerking in surprise at the sight behind them.  “Baymax?  What are you—why is he out of his—the thing?”

_“I was alerted to the need for medical assistance,”_ Baymax said.

“Uh, yeah,” Hiro said.  “See, uh—went to get a glass of water last night, missed a step, and…Baymax is overreacting, we’re going to try to get him back in his charger.”

He gave Obake a look as they sat down, hoping it imparted _yeah, I’m covering for you—don’t make me regret it._ It didn’t seem to register.

_“They are both in need of assistance,”_ Baymax said.  _“I will remain active until they are healed.”_

The three of them gave him a blank look.

“Uh…okay,” Aunt Cass said slowly.  “I don’t know what…we’re going to have to sit down and have a chat, I guess…we’ll talk about it later.”  She looked at Obake.  “But I guess…unless you’ve changed your mind about the doctor—”

Obake looked at her like he’d rather have a root canal with no anesthetic.

“Yeah…anyway, little bit of everything,” she said, putting the plates down.  “I have to eat and run—have to finish getting the café ready—you boys eat, we’ll all talk later, okay?  Okay.  Good chat.  Love you.”

They watched her dash back to the kitchen, saying something about the bagels—Hiro looked at Obake, who looked at him, still narrow-eyed; Hiro added an apology during his moment of silence for keeping an eye open.  Looked over the selection of breakfast meats, eggs, toast, pancakes—started scraping several link sausages onto his plate.

Obake didn’t make a move to eat, other than to shove the scrambled eggs away from himself.

_“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,”_ Baymax informed him.  _“Studies have shown that skipping breakfast can cause: heart problems, among other concerns.”_

“Listen to the robot,” Hiro said around a mouthful of sausage, grinning cheekily at Obake.

Baymax looked at the spread, picked up the plate of link sausage, put it next to Obake.

_“Your body temperature is: low, which can be from a low red blood cell count,”_ Baymax informed him.   _“Of the available food, this would be the most helpful, as it contains: liver, and spinach.”_

Hiro nearly choked, almost had food go up his nose, was sure that his spit take was something to behold.   _“What!?  AUNT CASS!”_

“What?  What is it?” Aunt Cass asked, running back in from the kitchen.

“ _Why didn’t you TELL me this had liver and spinach in it!?”_

“You never minded before,” she said, shrugging.

“When was this?  When did it have—urgh,” he muttered, taking a quick drink of orange juice to get the thought out.

“Hiro, it’s always had that,” she said.  “Ah—bread’s done—gotta go.”

Hiro made a face, spotted Obake, leaning away from where his spit take had been and looking like he was well on his way to breaking a rib from holding in a laugh.

Hiro threw a slice of toast at him.  “It’s not _funny_.  My whole life I’ve been living a lie,” he wailed, looking at the ceiling.  “What next, pizza is healthy?”

_“Pizza can be very healthy, if prepared with the correct ingredients,”_ Baymax told him, a finger up.

“Baymax, _no.”_

 

The rest of breakfast went without incident; Hiro had biscuits and bacon, still convinced that _those_ at least lacked spinach and liver.  Obake had maybe _one_ piece of toast, and Hiro suspected it had been the one he had thrown at him.

Now, after cleaning up breakfast and vacating the now-open café to the customers, they were back in the bedroom, Hiro stuck on what to do and Obake still with that resting _done_ face, Baymax standing near the steps and watching them both.

“Okay,” Hiro sighed, knowing he was going to have to convince Obake to stay _somehow_ , even if he himself wasn’t too sold on it.  This was important to Aunt Cass—if he ran away…she was in as fragile an emotional state as he was, maybe worse for having to deal with adult issues; Obake leaving would…kind of break her.  It didn’t matter if he, Hiro Hamada, wanted this kid gone—he didn’t want to see his aunt crushed again.

“So, um,” Hiro noised, scratching his head as he looked around.  “I…don’t really know…uh, video games?  They’re downstairs in the living room, but….”

Obake sat down on Hiro’s bed, legs crossed at the ankles; didn’t have his backpack on, hadn’t found it yet as far as Hiro could tell, but Hiro was pretty sure he’d run again the second he took his eyes off him.  At least Baymax was being helpful, what with blocking the entrance, basically.

“Okay, you’re going to have to be helpful here, because I have no idea what you like,” Hiro pointed out.  “Except maybe running away in the middle of the night.”

Obake narrowed his eye at him.

“Yeah, I went there.  Now are you going to start being helpful or not?”

No dice—now he was looking anywhere but at Hiro.  Hiro groaned, stalked in a circle before flopping down next to his desk and fishing out a pair of his older Converses.

“Well if you’re going to be like that, I’m just going to go downstairs and work in the workshop,” he groused, pulling socks on.  Not that he thought he’d be productive, but he wasn’t sitting around with someone who wasn’t going to be talking.  He had already done that yesterday, and it was aggravating at best.

_“Participating in a creative process is good for one’s mental health, and can be a good way to connect with others,”_ Baymax offered, before looking around the room, blinking.  _“Playing with toys also has positive effects.”_

Hiro stared blankly at him, noting Obake do the same; looked around, spotted some of his toys up on the shelves above his corner desk.

“All right, fine, we’ll try it,” Hiro said, standing up and sorting through the toys on the shelf.  “Um…I don’t know, did you see this movie?” he asked Obake, holding up his toy cybug.  Obake shook his head, pulling his feet up to sit crosslegged on the bed.  “Okay, um…what about Ninja Turtles?”

Obake shook his head again, drifting back to disengaged.

“Look, I’m _trying,_ okay?” Hiro demanded, gesturing angrily before trying to get his emotions back under control—deep breath, ball his fists, let it out.  Nope.  “You have to do _something_ too—you can’t just _sit there_.”

Obake looked like he very dearly wanted to say _watch me_.  Hiro huffed, turned—saw Obake’s attention slide to something on the desk.  Turn to look—

“Oh, that’s Megabot,” Hiro said, glancing at Obake; the other boy glanced at him.  “He’s…not a toy.  Exactly.”

Obake looked intrigued now.  Well…he supposed he could show Megabot off _without_ mentioning the little bit about using him to bot-fight….

Hiro grabbed Megabot, the controller, put the robot down on the floor, fiddled with the controls to make sure it was still working after a few months of collecting dust, started moving Megabot around.  Obake watched with cursory interest.

“Oh, sure, you look that way _now_ ,” Hiro said, tugging his chair around so he could sit in it, glancing around before toeing a ball out from under the desk.  “Just wait until I open him up. Megabot?  Destroy.”

Kick the ball over, tug the controller out into fight mode—heard the little whisk of Megabot’s face switching—

And then the ball was all over the place, Megabot pursuing and attacking and pursuing again under Hiro’s guidance, thumbs twitching and fingers clicking, mind able to clear of some of that awful fugue from the need to focus on controlling the robot.

Hiro glanced at Obake—grinned at the sight of the other boy finally perking up, watching Megabot dart all over the room, completely riveted on the robot’s actions.  Baymax was tracking the movement too, occasionally blinking at them—probably scanning them.

A few more hits, knock the ball into a basket on the desk, send Megabot to sit in the open space between him and Obake, set him back to nice-face again, and have him give a little bow before slouching down again, inactive.

“Finally got a reaction out of you, huh?” Hiro asked, grinning at the sight of Obake bouncing slightly on the bed, fists pumping, looking at him, the robot, him, the robot—something approaching uncontrolled mirth and excitement playing on his face—

Obake suddenly glanced around, launched himself off the bed—Hiro jumped up, thinking he was making a break for it—stared in confusion when Obake skidded to a halt, grabbed a tote bag off of a hook on the wall, ran back, scooping Megabot into the tote bag before snatching the controller away from Hiro.

“ _Hey!”_   Hiro protested, trying to grab the controller back as Obake shoved it into the tote bag—was surprised when Obake slipped the straps onto his arm, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him to and down the stairs.

“Hey wait—where are we going?  _Stay there, Baymax!”_   Hiro yelped, glancing back to see his brother’s robot start to toddle for the stairs.  That would be just what he needed—to lose Baymax.

Had to quickly redirect his attention to the stairs again, lest he slip and fall—hit the ground floor, Obake tugging him to the door, slipping around the customers—

“We’re going out, Aunt Cass!” Hiro managed to yelp before they were out the door and heading down the street—he didn’t get a chance to catch his breath until Obake stopped, glancing around before looking at the street signs.

_“What_ are we even _doing_?” Hiro asked, trying to peel Obake’s fingers off his wrist—nope, Obake had figured out where he wanted to go, dragged Hiro across the street and down another block, checking street signs again before crossing another street, no signs of slowing down.  “Hey! Would it kill you to at least _say_ —"

Hiro stopped short when he realized he recognized where they were—oh no, don’t be heading for—

Obake reached an alley with lanterns hanging within, turned and went down it—Hiro finally dug his heels in.

“No, no, _no!_ That’s Good Luck Alley!” he hissed.  Obake glared at him.  “Trust me, I’ve already done bot-fighting here—there’s a bunch of people here who will be _really mad_ to see me again, all right?”

Obake rolled his eye, tugged on Hiro’s arm, pointing. Hiro resisted—

Obake shrugged, let go, set off down the alley by himself as Hiro went sprawling.

“What?  No, wait!” Hiro yelped, scrambling back upright and running after him.  “It’s not any safer for you either!  Come _on,_ I’ve been here before!  You have to have a really good escape plan if you go here!”  Or a brother to save your bacon—Hiro’s stomach lurched at the memory, finally prompted him to grab Obake’s wrist and tug.

“We have to go back to the café,” Hiro said when he looked back at him, trying to inject forcefulness into his voice. “I’m serious, this is dangerous.”  And a section of the alley he hadn’t been down before—here was hoping he could find their way back.

Obake looked him up and down a moment—reached up and knocked on the door that Hiro hadn’t realized they were standing in front of.

Hiro froze when a panel opened, eyes scanning them—didn’t relax when the door opened to reveal a fridge of a man.

“Heard you died,” the man said, looking Obake up and down before looking at Hiro.  “What’s this?”

Hiro was pretty sure his brain had gone running back up the alley, taking most of his blood with it—tried to restart it, wasn’t getting anything—looked down when he felt someone picking at his fingers, realized he had been squeezing Obake’s wrist so hard his veins were starting to show.

When he looked back up, _something_ had to have been said—he had missed it with the roaring in his ears—watched the guy carefully as Obake dragged him inside.

“Can we talk?” Hiro hissed at Obake as they made their way down a dark hall. “Listen—sure, I did bot-fighting—but I did it in an open alley—doing it indoors is a level of stupid I _never_ flirted with, okay?  I don’t— _woah.”_

The hall had turned, opened up into a warehouse with big skylights way overhead, beams crisscrossing and field seating set up—quite a few people were milling about, all of them rough-looking—Hiro quickly scanned the crowd for Yama.  Of all the people he had fleeced, Yama would be the one who would be after Hiro’s blood.

Bot-fighting—Tadashi would be so disappointed in him right now for even _being_ here.

“Listen,” Hiro said to Obake, stepping closer and eyeing everyone nearby; Obake led him over to a table.  “I’m—I’m glad you’re impressed with my robot, but I _can’t_ be here, okay?  I need to be _anywhere else_ but here—uh, hi,” he squeaked, spotting the woman behind the counter—not sure of her name, but he recognized the hair and that eyepatch, knew she had been ringmaster for Yama’s other fights.

“You,” she said, eyeing Hiro.  “You’ve got some nerve showing up here.”

“Uh, yeah, about that—not really my idea, would _love_ to see the door—”

The woman looked at Obake, as though suddenly noticing him there.  “You! I thought you died.”

Obake shrugged, tugged Hiro forward, pointed at him.

“This was _not_ my idea,” Hiro said quickly.

“He’s blacklisted anyway,” she said, looking at Obake.

“Oh well, we tried,” Hiro said, shrugging and turning to go—Obake caught him by the shoulder, yanked him back—fished in his hoodie before pulling out a wallet and tossing it onto the table.

The woman picked it up, opened it, rooted through it, checking cards before looking at Obake, at Hiro, at Obake—shrugging, opening a drawer and dropping the wallet in.

“Fine—but Yama asks, it’s _your_ fault.  And Obake?” she asked, turning back from her walk away.  “Get a better eyepatch.”

“Uh, what?” Hiro managed to get out, before Obake grabbed him by the shoulders and steered him towards the battlefield.  “Wait, what—no! Nonononono—” trip over the little raised edge, catch himself, spin to glare at Obake.

“I am _not_ doing this,” he hissed at him.  “I got out of bot-fighting, I don’t want to get back in, it’s hazardous to my health—especially if—”

_“You!”_

Hiro yelped, got about a foot of air, was off like a shot when he touched ground again, only to once again be caught by Obake and spun back around, unfortunately to face a mountain of a man—one he had last seen through prison bars.

“H-h-hi, Yama!” Hiro greeted.  “You look good!  New haircut?”

Yama had not gotten a haircut, Yama looked very much like he had the last time he had seen Hiro, right down to the murderous glare—Hiro flailed backwards as the meaty hand reached for him—tripped over the edge of the ring again, fell in the sand—

Was surprised when Yama stopped, jerking back, was even more surprised when he realized the reason why.

“You!” Yama barked, glaring at Obake as he fell back a step; Hiro took the opportunity to scramble upright.  “I heard you died!”

“I’m starting to detect a pattern here,” Hiro said to Obake.  Obake twitched a shoulder, not taking his attention off of Yama, arms crossed, posture straight, twist of his mouth looking stern.

Hiro glanced at Yama, noting the facial muscles twitching—glanced back at Obake, back at Yama.  Was he missing something?  If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that Yama was intimidated by a kid that had to have been slighter than Hiro.

You could have knocked him over with a leaf when Yama finally backed off a step.

“Fine,” Yama spat, glaring and pointing at Obake before directing his attention to Hiro.  “But when you lose—and you _will_ —you’re _mine,_ got that?”

Hiro tried to stutter out an answer—graduated to spluttering when Obake shrugged.  Yama snorted, stomped off, hollering for the first guy to _get out here and teach this brat a lesson—_

“No!” Hiro protested, grabbing Obake’s shoulder and spinning him around.  “No, no, _no!_ I am _not_ doing this, you’re going to get me _killed!”_

Obake, in response, grabbed the bag, reached in, shoved the controller at Hiro before pulling Megabot out and going to put him in the ring.

“No—stop it—you’re not _listening to me!”_   Hiro fairly shrieked, stepping forward to stop him—

“All right, fighters ready?” the woman with the eyepatch yelled.

“ _No!”_   Hiro protested—Obake stepped out of the ring, grabbed him by the shoulders—searching his face with a scowl on his own, expression intense, one eye looking for something—finally spun him and planted him firmly across from a guy with too many tattoos and piercings for it to be tasteful anymore.

“Oh please no,” Hiro whimpered.

The guy smirked.  “Please, you and that wimpy bot?  This won’t take a minute.”

Through everything else—the panic, the dread, the knowledge that he shouldn’t be here—that comment made his blood boil, made him glance at the man’s robot, sizing it up—still leaning away from the ring, Obake holding him in place, but….

The woman in the eyepatch stepped into the ring, parasol separating the robots.  “Bots ready… _fight!”_

She had barely stepped out of the way when the guy sent his robot surging forward, blunt arms swinging—crushing-type robot—Hiro sent Megabot skidding out of the way, avoiding the impact—sand sprayed up—

Obake’s hold on him was subtly shifting from pinning him in place to gripping his shoulders in anticipation—he could sense the taller teen looking over his shoulder, watching the fight—he kept Megabot out of the reach of the other robot, still in the ring, longstanding practice telling him to wait until the man got angry or cocky or anything that would make him make a mistake—there!

Overextend—Megabot snaked in under his guard, around the robot—squeezed—

The man was staring at the half of his robot still in the ring, other half outside, both sparking as Megabot went back to the center of the ring and gave a little bow.

The blood and adrenaline started to drain from his head, and Hiro was starting to sway a little, laughing as his victory sank in—someone gripping his shoulders tight, shaking him a little; glance over his shoulder to see Obake grinning madly at him, looking a shade away from bouncing up and down like a little kid.

The woman in the eyepatch acting as ringmaster twirled her parasol idly, considering as the guy picked up his robot’s remains and scuttled away.

“All right!” she barked finally.  “You know the drill!  Next person up!  You,” she said, pointing at Hiro.  “Go until you’re beat.”

“Uh, what?” Hiro asked—this wasn’t how it usually went in the alley—

And then the next robot was plunked down, and he found himself _very_ busy.

And the next…and the next…and the next—sometime during this battery of fights he had stopped leaning back, was leaning forward, excited, engaged, controller pulled out for maximum control—his world had narrowed down to just this ring, hardly even registering Obake, still with his hands on Hiro’s shoulders, the pain of the past month fading into background noise—nothing existed outside of this ring—it was just him, his robot, his opponent—

And then the next one was plopped down—

He had to take a moment, blinking at the shinier exterior, the better articulated joints—this one was high-tier…which meant its owner had won a lot of battles before.  Glance up at the owner—young-ish, fairly androgynous, nose piercings, lipstick, mascara, leather jacket with no sleeves, dark hair pulled back in a low short ponytail.

And currently looking at Obake, not him—which alerted him to the fact that Obake was gripping his shoulders so hard now that it was actually starting to hurt, making bones grind against each other in ways they weren’t intended.  Ow.  Try to shrug out of his grip—

“Huh,” the person said.  “Using a little boy as a shield?  This is low even for you.”

“Hey!” Hiro barked, making them look at him.  “ _He’s_ not the one you have to worry about, remember?”

“Cute,” they said, before looking back at Obake.  “When I’m through with _him_ , you’re next.”

Hiro’s insides felt like icy water was sloshing around in them, and Obake’s grip on him hadn’t ceased at all—but he could feel the other boy shaking, knew almost without looking that it was from anger, not fear—it had occurred to him, sometime during this whole thing, that Obake had been bot-fighting before…he wondered if this person had knocked him out of the running at some point.

And it was stupid, not the least because Obake had been the one to drag him here against his will, but he suddenly felt fiercely protective of the other kid, wanted nothing more than to knock that smug smile off the other person’s face—forget that he had to win to keep Yama’s mitts off himself, he wanted to knock this person down, _hard_.

Deep breaths as the ringmaster brought the parasol down—heat and fire never did a bot-fight good.  Winners kept their cool.

And it made the twitch of surprise on the other person’s face _very_ satisfying, when the parasol came up and he didn’t go charging in—rolling back instead, catching the other robot flat-footed, ready to catch someone trying to surge in head-on. Snake behind—keep going when the robot spun to catch him—zig-zag around the ring, rolling, avoiding jumping up or pinning himself against the edge or anything else that would give an opening to catch him—frustrate, annoy, bait—they’d make a mistake eventually, overreach—

But no—this one was canny, clever—any openings were split-second, blink-and-you-missed it—and the longer this went on, the more he ran the risk of exposing an opening himself—he’d have to commit to one of these narrow openings, go—wait for one, wait for one, hardly daring to blink—

There!

Snake up the attacking limb, other limb already moving to intercept—tighten now!

One limb was off and Megabot was zipping away before the other limb could clamp down on him—the robot was in hot pursuit—jink, swerve, dodge—easier with one missing limb and the person frustrated now—he had gotten under their skin.  Keep playing them, keep playing them—

And then Megabot was sitting on top of a broken robot, giving its owner a cheeky little bow before zipping back over to Hiro’s side of the ring.

Blood was roaring in his ears again, the rush of victory competing with the cheers—people were rooting for him.  People.  Were.  Rooting.  For.   _Him._

That was nothing compared to the bark of savage triumph from Obake as he finally fell to what Hiro had been expecting for the past couple of fights—jumping up and down and shaking his shoulders so hard his head rattled.  Hiro finally broke free, aimed a couple of play-socks at the other kid—Obake dodged, ducking his head, trying to school his expression—couldn’t quite hide the big grin that had his eye squinted and his nose wrinkled.

A grin that sent a cold shiver straight up Hiro’s spine.

And then he realized that Yama was standing across from him.

“Fine,” Yama huffed.  “You may have fought your way up the ranks, but you’re not beating me again!”

“We’ll see,” Hiro countered, rubbing his nose, unable to keep the cheekiness off of his face or out of his voice.

This wouldn’t take long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering the number of times Obake has told Hiro to “Listen to the robot” in my fics, it’s probably very refreshing for Hiro to be able to throw the line back at him. Biscuits and bacon is a reference to my _Yu-Gi-Oh!/Don’t Starve_ crossover _The Frost King_ , at least in passing.
> 
> The location of the bot-fight is based on the place featured in the episode "The Bot-Fighter"—seemed like the sort of place for something big like a tourney. And is it just me, or does Good Luck Alley seem bigger/more winding/like more than one alley in the show?
> 
> And that one opponent—got the design, the character, couldn’t figure out if they were male or female—finally threw up my hands and said “It’s the twenty-first century and it’s California—no one knows.”


	4. When the Day Met the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _All was golden when the day met the night._  
>  \--"When the Day Met the Night," Panic! at the Disco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was brought to you by the local library. Go find one and get you some. :D  
> Big Hero 6 © Disney

It didn’t.

He didn’t know if it was some sort of rule or something Obake did, but they got out of there unaccosted—and with the tourney’s winnings, as it turned out.  Hiro was hustling away from there as fast as he could, Megabot and his controller at the bottom of the tote bag, currently with more money than Hiro had ever seen before in his life piled on top.

“That was _incredible!”_   Hiro blurted finally, still hugging the tote bag to his chest as he sped away, Obake easily keeping pace with his longer stride and looking like he was hurting his face from grinning so much.  “That was amazing—I.  _Never._ Got this much money from bot-fighting before.  That was—wait,” he said, skidding to a halt, good mood crashing down as he spun to Obake, gesturing at the tote bag.  “I can’t take this home!  I can’t explain it to Aunt Cass—she’ll know I’d been bot-fighting—she’ll kill me!”

Obake considered this, nodded once, grabbed the hand that Hiro had freed up to gesture and tugged him along.  Hiro was still hesitant, but a little more willing to follow the other kid than he had been this morning.  Even if it _had_ almost resulted in a messy end and a day that he was feeling guilty for enjoying.

The sun was low and the shadows were long as Obake led him to a corner store, stopped him, pointed at the bag—Hiro held it out from him a little, watched as Obake sorted out a few smaller bills before disappearing into the store.  Stand there, still clutching the bag, not sure what to do as he scanned the area…worried that he’d be jumped, or arrested—kids didn’t just have tote bags full of money!

Yelp in surprise at the tap on his shoulder—spin to see Obake standing there, eyebrow up, bag in his hand.

“Y-you scared me,” Hiro wheezed, by way of explanation.  Obake shrugged, held out his hand—Hiro blinked at it a moment before accepting it, following him back through the streets to more familiar locales, standing at an intersection and looking around before striking off in a different direction.

“Home is the other way,” Hiro pointed out.

Obake shook his head, tugged a little—Hiro sped up, following him…blinked in surprise when he realized they were going to the little neighborhood library.

“Oh…kay,” Hiro noised slowly as they went up the little flight of steps.  “I don’t have my library card with me.”

Obake waved him off, opened the door, dragged him in.

A few moments later, they were sitting at the bank of antiquated computers lining the far wall of the library, blocked from view from the door by a turning and a few half-walls.  Hiro had pulled a chair over to sit next to Obake, still clutching the tote bag to his chest as he watched the other kid pull up a word file and start typing.

_Dear Ms. Hamada_ appeared on the screen—Obake looked at him, expression questioning.

Hiro blinked a few times before what Obake was wanting sunk in. “Um, yeah, that’s…right, if you’re talking about Aunt Cass…what are you doing?”

Small smile, back to typing—Hiro watched as the words appeared, occasionally disappearing as a typo cropped up before surging on ahead.

_Dear Ms. Hamada:_

_We firstly wish to extend our condolences, even though we know that’s not nearly enough._

_Tadashi was a model student and a pillar of the community, and while we feel his absence most acutely, we know that is nothing compared to what you are going through.  We have taken up a collection to assist you through this time._

_We have decided to remain anonymous due to personal reasons, and hope you will honor our request in this area.  We hope to be able to provide more assistance soon as more donations come in._

_You are in our thoughts.  Best wishes._

Obake leaned back in his seat, hand to his mouth as he considered what he had written, went back and changed the structure of one or two sentences, added a few words to another sentence or two, polishing it until it read professionally; sat back to look at Hiro, little smile quirked onto his face.

Hiro, meanwhile, was scowling.

“What is this?” he demanded, pointing at the screen.  “You can’t—we can’t—you can’t just _lie_ to Aunt Cass like that!”

Obake tipped his head at Hiro, looked at the screen, tapped enter a few times before writing something else, tilted the screen at Hiro so he could read the new line.

_What part of it isn’t true?_

Hiro opened his mouth to argue—considered the letter again.  _We have decided to remain anonymous due to personal reasons—_ not exactly a lie, Hiro didn’t want Aunt Cass to know the money was from him, _definitely_ didn’t want her to know about the bot-fighting.  _You are in our thoughts—_ all the time.  _Wish to extend our condolences_ …true….

“We didn’t take up a collection,” Hiro pointed out.

Obake typed a new line: _it was money collected together that we took.  Next objection._

Hiro scowled, pointed at the screen again.  “And what’s this about more donations?”

A new line: _That’s over a thousand dollars in that bag, it’s not all going to fit in one envelope._

Hiro wheezed at the estimate—a thousand— _over_ a thousand dollars?  Definitely more money than he had ever seen in one place before, even on a busy day at the café.

Hiro still couldn’t help but fidget.  “That’s…still a lot of money.  I—I don’t know—I’m not sure how Aunt Cass will react, even getting it as a donation.”

Obake tapped his face, considering, expression subtly smug.  Type another line.

_Give half to SFIT?_

Hiro blinked at that suggestion—donate to the nerd school?  Sure it needed repairs due to the fire damage, but….

“Let me guess: after you get _your_ cut,” Hiro said to him.

Obake twitched a shoulder, wrote a new line: _You won it, it’s your money._

“I won it because _you_ dragged me there!” Hiro protested—duck in closer and lower his voice when he realized he was getting a little loud.  “Why was it so important we go anyway?  That one guy—girl, whatever—who were they?”

Obake twitched a shoulder, not offering any more than that.

“Don’t give me that—I know it was personal.”

Obake tipped his head to regard Hiro evenly, expression not giving anything away.

Hiro returned the look with a glare.  “Are you done insulting me, or are you going to realize I’m smarter than you give me credit for?”

Obake’s eye flicked across Hiro’s face, considering…finally typed another line.

_Yosei Raibaru.  Old rival.  All I’m going to say on the matter._

Hiro arched an eyebrow; it felt like there was more to it than that.  And his choice of words was questionable too—it wasn’t like he was ‘saying’ anything.  Matter of fact, Hiro was hard-pressed to say if Obake had said _anything_ after introducing himself yesterday.

And he couldn’t shake the feeling that, given the choice, Obake wouldn’t be saying anything else either.

Hiro sighed; it was late, he was tired, the adrenaline had burned off and left him exhausted, he didn’t have the energy to argue.

“Fine,” he said finally, propping his head up.  “Let’s do it.”

Obake smiled, deleted his comments, opened a new word file, copy and pasted the letter, edited it to better suit being sent to SFIT.  Set both of those printing, opened up two new word files—Hiro blinked at the odd shape, watched as Obake filled in both, one with just _Cass Hamada_ , the other with SFIT’s address, pulled some envelopes out of the grocery bag and left.

Hiro sat there, blinking; rubbed at his eyes, his face with his free hand, other hand still tightly gripping the tote bag, feet kicking absently…the excitement from the bot-fighting had worn off, and now that he was sitting still, his sleepless previous night was catching up with him.  What time was it?

Look around for a clock, peer at the corner of the computer screen—felt his stomach flip-flop when the time registered on him.

Obake came hustling back with the letters, sat down to print the two envelopes.

“We have to get back to the café,” Hiro told him.  “Aunt Cass will be closing it soon.”  Obake looked at him, went back to one of the letters and typed out a new line.

_When?_

“Nine o’ clock on weekdays,” Hiro said.

Obake looked at the time, nodded, went back to the envelopes and printed them out, taking off for the printer again once he had done so.  Hiro looked around in the meantime, hoping no one was taking note of two teens acting suspiciously.  Someone in a purple fedora was chatting animatedly with a man in a waistcoat, but they were across the library and sunk into their own conversation.  Aside from them, the only other people in the library seemed to be one very tired-looking librarian eyeing the clock on the wall behind her.  Come to think of it, most of the small businesses in the neighborhood—including the library—closed at nine.  They’d have to get moving soon.

Obake came back with the envelopes, sat back down, looked over the envelopes and the letters before deleting the word files, going into the computer’s history and wiping out the memory for the session.  Set the letters with the corresponding envelopes—

“You printed four,” Hiro pointed out, noting the second set of envelopes.

Obake nodded, pointed at the tote bag; Hiro loosened his hold on it, scootched closer as Obake did the same—looked around nervously as Obake started sorting out the money within, first by note denomination, then in four equal piles.  Hiro counted along for a bit, felt his insides squirm when his tally reached triple-digits, flick a glance up at the letters— _Tadashi_ jumped out at him.

Maybe that was what was making him uncomfortable, he decided—using Tadashi to justify using the money.  There was no denying that Aunt Cass or the school needed the funds, true…but it just felt wrong.

It occurred to him that this wouldn’t have bothered him so much a few months ago.  But then again, a few months ago everything was going fine—living brother, happy family, a potential future lined up for him.  And now….

Tadashi was gone, his absence weighing them down like a wet blanket, the future at SFIT not so clear and bright anymore.  Bot-fighting today had been the first time he had felt normal in _weeks_ …was that such a bad thing?

_Yes,_ he told himself.  Bot-fighting had gotten him into trouble, had gotten Tadashi into trouble when he came to rescue him, had upset Aunt Cass bad enough to drive her to stress-eating.  And if he hadn’t been bot-fighting…he wouldn’t have had Megabot to give him the idea, Tadashi wouldn’t have tried to convince Hiro to go to SFIT so much, maybe….

He wouldn’t have made the microbots that had impressed Dr. Callaghan so much….

And Tadashi wouldn’t have gone back in….

And Hiro once again circled around to the one thought that kept plaguing him every time he thought about the fire: that Tadashi was dead, and it was _his_ fault.

He tightened his arm muscles to keep from hugging the tote bag, eyes low, hardly seeing Obake finish counting out the bills and start stuffing them into envelopes.  No matter what, all he could think about was how that evening had gone so _wrong_ …how if he had been smart enough, fast enough, strong enough to hold on to Tadashi for even a few seconds longer—if he had done even _one thing_ differently, Tadashi would still be alive, would still be here.  He was torturing himself, he knew…but maybe he deserved it.  Maybe he deserved the empty aching feeling that came from picturing his brother—yesterday, all of yesterday would have gone _so_ much differently…honestly, they both would have dragged Obake home, whether he was the only kid there or not; he had something about him, some subtle air that seemed…forlorn, maybe.  Tadashi would have probably teased more of a reaction out of him, figured out a way to get this kid talking…would have done the serious older-brother talk when he tried to run away, instead of Hiro basically begging him to stay.

Tadashi would have come up with something better than bot-fighting.

Hiro rubbed at his nose and face, trying to make it look like he was just tired, as Obake folded up the letters, double-checked them and the envelopes, and put them in.  Pull out a sponge and a short bottle of water, unscrew the lid, wet the sponge before dabbing the line of glue on the envelopes.  Hiro wondered idly if he had heard of that one urban legend about the cockroach egg in the glue, that Tadashi had teased Hiro with for _months_ after they heard it—or maybe he just didn’t want to risk a papercut on his tongue.  Those were no fun.

Obake glanced at the clock again, put the two open envelopes and the sealed envelope to SFIT back in the tote bag, put the lid back on the water before relegating it and the sponge back to the grocery bag and putting it in the tote bag as well.  Pick up the sealed envelope addressed to Aunt Cass and stand, pushing his chair back into place and looking at Hiro expectantly.

It took Hiro a few bleary moments to process what he was wanting; stood, pushed his own chair back into place…stare for a moment at the proffered hand before accepting it and allowing himself to be led back out.

“Have a good night,” the librarian called.

“Night,” Hiro said, still not sure if it could be classified as _good_.  Follow Obake back through the minor maze of streets, take the lead and tug when it became clear Obake wasn’t entirely certain where the café was from there.  Downtown San Fransokyo glowed in the distance, bright and vibrant and still bursting with life, but here in Hiro’s neighborhood the streets were empty and the shadows were deep, bright warm squares denoting where people were indoors for dinner, or cool blue windows of television-watching.  The air was still a little tacky from the bay mist, but not the overwhelming stickiness that it would gain later in the summer—it was still early enough in the year that the cool breeze coming in from the bay was less a welcome relief and more likely to raise goosebumps on his skin.  On the positive side, it woke him up a little, made him a little more alert.

They turned a corner, saw the café still pouring out warm light further up the street.  Check the roads, cross the street—not as much traffic out here as in the inner city, and most everyone was home by now, only one or two odd cars traversing the streets at the moment, occupants looking preoccupied more with their destination and less with two kids on the sidewalk.

“So how are we going to do this?” Hiro asked as they came near the back alley behind the café.  Obake stopped, pointed at the tote bag, then at Hiro, looked down at their hands until Hiro got the message and let go.  Fished in his pocket, pulled out the envelope labeled _Cass Hamada,_ pointed at himself before pointing up front.

“So you want me to go in—hide this,” he guessed, when Obake shook his head and pointed at the tote bag again.  Obake nodded, prompting him to continue.  “And you go up and put that envelope in the mail slot…while I, what, cause a distraction?”

Obake nodded, apparently happy that Hiro had puzzled it out.

“You know, this would be easier if you talked,” Hiro pointed out, prompting Obake to shrug.  Hiro shook his head, started to turn down the alley….

Stopped, turned back to look at Obake.

“How do I know you won’t just take that money and run?” he quizzed, narrowing his eyes a little.

Obake at least had the decency to look a little affronted, did a little X over his heart with a finger.

Hiro couldn’t help the disbelieving snort as he turned back down the alley, made it a few steps before stopping again.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly, not looking back.  “I…I just needed to get out of the house.”  Hesitate, finally glance back—Obake was gone.  Not that he expected anything less.

Go to the garage door, go to the one board on the right-hand side that he had accidentally broken one day, when he had been practicing with a soccer ball against the wall—for camp, in an attempt to get him some friends his age.  He had hated it, and it had shown when he had kicked the ball so hard that it broke one of the boards—there had been a lot of frantic fixing before anyone noticed, and to his knowledge, no one had.

And even better, that half-broken board hid an empty space that worked quite well as a secret compartment.  Worry at it a bit, pull the board off, drop the tote bag in, and that was that.

He put the board back in place, brushed it a little to assure himself that it was smooth once more, went to the back door.  Fish under the mat for the key, unlock, put it back, ease his way in…didn’t see Aunt Cass, but could hear her in the café—probably talking to a customer.  He slipped in, kicked his shoes off, tugged his socks off and tossed them up the stairs as he went to the opening between the living room and the café.

He was surprised when he poked his head through, though—Aunt Cass was busy talking to Baymax, and had been for some time, if the dishes in front of her were any indication.

Baymax blinked, looked over.   _“Hiro.”_

Aunt Cass spun around.  “Oh—Hiro!  Where’ve you been?  Have you eaten?”

“Oh, uh, out,” Hiro said, rubbing his arm and painfully aware how lame and suspicious that sounded.  “E-exploring the neighborhood.  Going to the library.  That sort of thing.”

Aunt Cass smiled as she stood, ruffled his hair affectionately.  Looked behind him—lost some of the smile.  “Where’s Obake?”

Hopefully not halfway to Sacramento by now.  “Uh, he’s…in the alley, out back—he thought he saw Mochi out there, had to make sure it wasn’t him.”

Baymax blinked at Mochi, sleeping on the counter.   _“It is: not.”_

“Well let’s go get him,” Aunt Cass said, heading for the door.  “Have you guys eaten?”

Not since that morning, and not a whole lot then.  “Uh, no?”  Come on, think, stall—“Uh, what were you and Baymax talking about?”

_“We have been discussing how best to proceed with your and Obake’s health care,”_   Baymax informed him, standing, blinking at the now-wobbling table before steadying it.

“Uh, what?”

“He’s actually been very helpful,” Aunt Cass said, leaning on the doorjamb a little before heading back.  Hiro heard the mail flap go, started at the sound—ran after her.

“About what though?” he asked.  “I’m fine, honest—I mean, yeah, worry about Obake a little with that eye, but _I’m_ fine.”

_“Your hormones are currently in flux, and you are experiencing mood swings,”_   Baymax said, toddling after them, a finger up.   _“My diagnosis: puberty.”_

_“What!?”_

“It had to happen eventually,” Aunt Cass pointed out, tugging the door open to go out—

She and Hiro were both surprised to see Obake in the doorway, frozen in surprise halfway up the little steps, looking up deer-in-the-headlights style with his hands in his hoodie pockets.

“Oh there you are!” Aunt Cass said, putting a hand to her chest.  “Mochi’s inside—come on, I’ll heat something up for dinner.”

Obake gave her a befuddled look but stepped inside anyway. Watched as Aunt Cass closed and locked the door, waited until she was heading back to the kitchen before looking at the shoes next to the door…surprised Hiro by toeing his own shoes off.  Look up at Hiro questioningly….

Hiro couldn’t help but smile in relief.

Mission accomplished.

 

Dinner had been leftovers, which wasn’t a surprise, albeit leftovers picked on Baymax’s cognizance.  Hiro, at least, had more of an appetite, was yawning afterwards.  Obake was more than willing to go along with Baymax’s suggestion that everyone go to bed, since _eight to ten hours of sleep was the minimum beneficial length of rest._ Plus, this got him out of the awkward questioning.

Not that he was _happy_ with the robot at the moment—scanning him and then discussing his health with Cass Hamada all day—now she was acting like he was made of glass.  He was _fine_ , he didn’t need any fussing over, really it was annoying.

Especially considering it would make getting away that much more difficult.

But, he reflected as he lay in bed, this had promise.  Sure, his initial attempt at running away had been thwarted…but Hiro was more interesting than he had previously thought.  And the look on Yosei’s face when Hiro had crushed their robot was _so_ satisfying.

He could hear the bed creak, knew that Hiro wasn’t asleep yet—glance to see him peering over to see if he was still up.

“Hey,” Hiro noised, settling back a little on the bed; when Obake gave a small wave in response: “I’m…actually surprised at you.”

Obake lifted his head a little, confused, as Hiro settled down on his elbows.

“I really, _really_ thought you were going to take that money and run,” Hiro continued.  “Just give up on the backpack and go.  And…I guess thank you, for…well, I guess for getting me out of the house.  But no more bot-fighting, got that?” he said, tone and expression stern as he pointed at Obake; like that was intimidating.

Obake humored him with a thumbs-up, went back to lying in bed and staring at the ceiling.  Silence, some creaks as Hiro resituated himself under the covers….

“Well, good night, I guess,” Hiro said.  “Good night, Baymax.”

_“Good night,”_   Baymax said from by the stairs; standing in his charger and in a position to stop Obake if he ran off again.

Not that he planned to—at least, not right away.

Continue to stare at the ceiling, mind buzzing—happily drifting off to sleep had never been a luxury for him, not with everything going on in his mind.  And right now….

Right now he was thinking Hiro could be diverting, at the very least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cockroach egg on the envelope was one of those urban legends I heard as a kid that stuck with me. The letter Obake writes is also an oblique reference to Volume 1 of the _Ultimate Spider-Man_ graphic novels—had it handy when I was writing this.  
> And this chapter—this was the chapter I was talking about on Tumblr when I said I wrote the scene with cathode computers in mind—very sobering to realize my gaming computer would be on the low end of standard computers in San Fransokyo.  
> Also—was writing with my local weather in mind, looked up San Francisco weather on a whim—what do you mean y’all have 70-degree weather year-round?


	5. Send Me On My Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I would like to reach out my hand_  
>  I may see you, I may tell you to run--  
> You know what they say about the young.  
> \--"Send Me On My Way," Rusted Root

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, look at that, I'm not dead! And neither is this fic, fortunately--I blame other BH6 fanfics I'm working on for draining most of my writing juice, and my dissertation for draining the rest of me. :( But good news for me is also good news for you, I'm here waiting for my manuscript since it's in turnaround, time for an update!  
> So what have the boys been up to....

Aunt Cass announced the next morning that one of her customers had some extra clothes she was bringing by to see if they fit Obake, and would probably be around in the afternoon.  Obake looked less than thrilled about that.

Obake also did little more than pick at breakfast again, Hiro noted, despite Baymax’s prodding.  Hiro, in the meantime, was busy with a bowl of cereal, still giving the link sausages the evil eye.  Seriously, _liver_ and _spinach._ Ulk.

But if Obake’s stomach was churning thinking about the rest of the money, Hiro could certainly understand—he had woken up thinking about the bag hidden in the wall behind the café, was going to be happy as a clam as soon as they got rid of it all.

Aunt Cass had gotten the envelope, he knew—he had heard her last night, gasping in surprise, crying a little…he had felt bad, then.  Now though, seeing her puttering around the café, getting it ready, humming as she went…he was starting to feel better about it.

Which meant that immediately after breakfast, he and Obake headed out, Hiro mentioning the arcade.

“Okay, just be back before two—that’s when Anne comes with the clothes!” Aunt Cass called.  “And take Baymax with you!”

Hiro groaned, flopped against the wall he was sitting against to put his shoes on.  He didn’t want to take Baymax anywhere—there was always a very real chance he could get lost, or stolen, or damaged, and wouldn’t _that_ be just his luck.  Plus, Baymax had already proven to be very chatty with Aunt Cass about them—they didn’t need him talking about the letter they were getting ready to send.

“Wouldn’t you rather him stay here with you?” Hiro tried.

Aunt Cass stuck her head through the door as Baymax waddled through the living room after them.  “I’d honestly feel better if he were with you.”

_“I will strive to be an excellent health care companion,”_   Baymax declared.

Hiro shook his head and went back to tying his shoes, glanced across the small foyer at Obake, in a similar position and activity.  Obake looked up—Hiro glanced at Baymax, back at him, trying to think of how he could tell him that Baymax needed to be distracted, that they couldn’t get rid of the money with him right there and liable to blab everything to Aunt Cass—

Obake blinked, glanced furtively at Baymax, looked back at Hiro and nodded, almost imperceptibly. Finished tying his shoes and stood, got about halfway up before tumbling over.

Baymax blinked, turned, leaned over Obake. _“You have fallen.”_

Hiro struggled to keep a straight face as he finished tying his shoes, carefully standing and edging for the door.  Judging by the way Obake was splayed, one arm dramatically over his forehead, he was going to guess that tumble had been on purpose.

_“On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?”_   Baymax asked, as Hiro eased the door open and slipped through; he glimpsed Obake holding a finger up as he eased the door shut, heard Baymax declare _“I will scan you now”—_

Run for the broken board, Converses slipping on asphalt still slick from the fog burning off—dug his fingers in, pulled—reached in, hoping he didn’t get something nasty like a spider—

Breathe a sigh of relief as his fingers found the straps of the tote bag, tug it out, put it against the wall as he wedged the board back into place.  Finish smoothing it out to make sure—hiss at a splinter, pinch it, tug it out, suck on his finger a little to make sure it didn’t bleed—pick up the tote bag—

Obake came out, hopped down the steps as Baymax toddled out after him.

“Hey,” Hiro greeted, shouldering the tote bag as he ran up to them.  “Have a nice trip?”

Obake shrugged as Baymax blinked at the steps, blinked up at them.

_“Obake, is uninjured by the: fall,”_   Baymax declared.

“Well that’s good,” Hiro said, watching Baymax for a moment before running after Obake and stopping him.

“Okay, listen,” Hiro said quietly, glancing back at Baymax working his way down the steps before looking back to Obake.  “I don’t like having Baymax as a babysitter either, but we can’t lose him, okay?  He’s my brother’s robotics project—if we lose him….”  He didn’t know. He’d probably have a breakdown—one more thing of Tadashi, gone.  It was something he didn’t think he could handle.

Obake shrugged again, looked around as Baymax came even with them.

_“I recommend: low-stress activity today,”_   Baymax said, blinking at them.

“Um, right,” Hiro said.  “Well, we were just going to mail something and then go to the arcade—real low-stress stuff.  You know, if you wanted to stay here, that’s be fine—what we’re doing is probably _really_ boring.”

_“I am a robot—I cannot be bored.”_

“Uh…it’d be better for our health if you stayed here?”

Baymax blinked at him. _“I fail to see how I can be an effective health-care companion that way.”_

“You could be with Aunt Cass?”

_“We have already covered her health-care necessities. She has informed me that by my being with you, her mental health is: improved.  Therefore, staying with you benefits all parties.”_

Hiro looked at Obake, shrugged helplessly.  Obake rolled his eye, looked around before pointing at a post box across the street.

_“Jaywalking can be hazardous to your health,”_  Baymax said, as Hiro started for it. _“Pedestrians should cross at designated crosswalks.”_

Hiro sighed, sagging, waved at Obake to follow him; they crossed at the crosswalk after looking both ways, Baymax pushing the little button for good measure.

A problem occurred to Hiro as he pulled the letter to SFIT out.

“We’re going to need stamps—they won’t mail this otherwise,” Hiro pointed out.  “And come to think of it, wouldn’t there be a postmark?  I’d feel better if it was from a neighborhood besides ours.”

_“Who is this letter for?”_   Baymax asked, head tipped.

“Uh!” Hiro noised, pulling the letter close to his chest.  “Um, it’s…a surprise. Like…a good Samaritan, but anonymous?  It’s… _really_ important that no one knows we’re mailing this—Aunt Cass included.  It would spoil it?” he tried, hoping his grimace wasn’t too obvious.

Baymax blinked, looked at Obake, back to him. _“Will mailing this letter anonymously improve your mental health?”_

In that he’d be rid of some of the money, yeah.  “Absolutely.”

Baymax blinked again, nodded. _“Then I will not discuss the letter with anyone.  Aunt Cass included.”_

Hiro breathed a sigh of relief.  “Wow, I—I did _not_ think it would be that—okay,” Hiro said, holding the letter out and pacing.  “So we need to go to the post office—pretty sure we can get stamps and get rid of this there—just a question of _where_ —”

Finger snaps made him look up at Obake, who stuck his hand out; Hiro hesitated before taking it, following Obake as he tugged him along.

“You know, I kind of question this,” Hiro said, indicating their hands.  “It’s not like we know each other that well.”

_“Some people derive comfort from physical contact,”_   Baymax posed, a finger up as he toddled behind them.

“Really.”  Hiro eyed Obake.  “You know, if you just _said_ something—I’m perfectly capable of following you around without getting lost.”

_“Obake has suffered a recent trauma, affecting several parts of his body,”_   Baymax said, earning him a glare from Obake. _“His trachea has also suffered injury.”_

Hiro looked at Obake appraisingly, considering.  “I’m going to guess your head was included in that list too, right?” he asked cheekily, earning himself a glare and a yank.  Hiro followed, thought for a bit before posing his next statement.

“But you _can_ talk,” he pointed out, watching Obake for any expression that would give away his current thoughts.  “I _heard_ you talk, that first day.  And—this is why you’re not eating anything, isn’t it?  It hurts for you to eat right now.”

Obake scowled at him, tried to tug his hand free—Hiro held on.

“What?” Hiro asked him.  “Some people derive comfort from physical contact.”

Obake flopped his arm down, looked skywards for strength.

“Hey, Hiro!  Good to see you out and about again!”

“Hi, Lonnie,” Hiro greeted, half-waving the hand still holding the SFIT letter.  “How’s things?”

“Good, good,” the darker-skinned man said, nodding as he put a bucket down.  “Getting ready to wash my car—what are you up to?”

“We’re looking for the post office—going to buy some stamps.”

“And your friends are?”

“Um…this is Obake,” Hiro said, pointing the letter at the other kid.  “And this is Baymax—he’s a…personal health-care companion.”

Baymax gave a little circular wave. _“Hello.”_    Looked Lonnie up and down. _“You are in: good health.”_

“That’s good to know.  Y’know, I didn’t think kids your age _mailed_ letters anymore—don’t you all do e-mails and texts and things like that?”

“Well, sometimes we like to try something old, see what it’s like,” Hiro said, shrugging.  “Except I don’t think any of us actually knows where the post office is.”

“Haha, I see how that’s a problem—down this road, take a left, next right, it’ll be on the left,” Lonnie said, pointing down the street.  “And buy the forever stamps—one thing I don’t miss about snail mail dying out is them raising the postage by one cent every time you try to mail something.”

“Thanks, Lonnie,” Hiro said, maneuvering around him and waving as they headed down the street.

“No problem—you take care!  And Hiro,” he added, making Hiro pause.  “I’m sorry about Tadashi.”

Hiro froze, feeling ice water cascading down from head to toe—almost normal, and then that happened.

“Y-yeah,” Hiro managed to get out finally, looking away.  “Me too.”

They continued on, Obake taking point when it became clear Hiro wasn’t all there anymore.

A poke on the shoulder made him look back up, spot Obake giving him a look.

“Sorry,” Hiro said, looking away again.  “It’s just…it still hurts.”

_“Physically, you are uninjured,”_   Baymax observed.

“Yeah, I know.  Different kind of pain.”

Silence for a moment.

_“I have been downloading information on treating: emotional loss,”_   Baymax offered.  “ _One common treatment is reaching out to friends and family.  Would you like me to contact your network?”_

“What?   _No!”_   Hiro yelped, spinning around and practically jumping on Baymax when he saw the network of faces spreading across his chest.  “No I—not right now, okay!?”  Not when they still had roughly seven hundred and fifty dollars in a tote bag that they had gotten from bot-fighting.

Baymax blinked at him. _“Shall I set a reminder?”_

“Yes, fine, whatever,” Hiro said, running his free hand through his hair—oh, that had been close…he really didn’t want to see Tadashi’s friends, didn’t need the sympathy constantly sending him into a tailspin.  He didn’t _want_ that sympathy, didn’t _deserve_ that sympathy—

_It was his fault Tadashi was dead._

He shook his head, turned and headed down the street.  “Look, just—forget it.  I’m fine.”  Got ready to cross the street—

Obake stopped him.

“What?” Hiro demanded.

In response, Obake pointed right, down the street.

_“The post office is: one left, one right, on the left,”_   Baymax supplied.

“Oh, right,” Hiro muttered.  Follow the sidewalk, looking for the post office…noticed Obake keeping pace, stopped when he poked his shoulder.  “What?”

Obake offered his hand again.

Hiro stared at the offered hand, looked up to examine Obake’s expression.  “I thought you decided you’d rather not.”

Obake shrugged.

Hiro considered another moment, accepted the hand and the little tug that sent them going again.

_“Some people derive comfort from physical contact,”_   Baymax repeated.

Hiro had to fight to keep his expression neutral.  “Yeah, thanks.”

Obake squeezed his hand a little but otherwise didn’t react.

Honestly, that might have been just what he needed.

 

The post office was situated on a corner, across from a convenience store and at the beginning of a street full of small businesses that looked like they had seen better days but were still sturdily hanging on.  The superstore chains might have been encroaching on the city and sitting pretty on the highways, but most people in the city proper found it easier to continue making use of the local stores.  Besides, the hot wings at Walmart smelled funny.

Baymax was once again tripped up at the steps; blinked at the steps, the easier wheelchair ramp, the steps again, before deciding on the steps.

Hiro, for the fun of it and because it wasn’t currently being used, ran up the wheelchair ramp, meeting Obake at the top of the little steps.

“Oh come on, seriously?” he asked the other kid.  “The straight boring route?”

“ _Wheelchair ramps are for those who cannot take normal steps,”_   Baymax said.

“And if there was someone who needed it I would have used the normal steps.”  Come on, Tadashi liked ramp-racing too—“…Let’s just go get the stamps.”

The post office smelled vaguely chlorinated, which never made any sense to Hiro—he glanced at the walls of PO boxes, the door the employees used to go to work and occasionally hand packages out of, before going to the glass door that led into the post office proper, where you could buy stamps and send out deliveries.

Baymax made himself useful by holding the door open for the various people trickling in and out to check their post boxes, since he’d be taking up a lot of space otherwise—Hiro and Obake took a few moments while they waited to entertain themselves, reading the posts on the bulletin board and poking through the stamp examples, swapping positions so they didn’t lose their spot in line.

The lady working the counter seemed a little surprised to see them when it was their turn.

“We’d like to buy some forever stamps, please?” Hiro asked, drawing on his natural _I’m cute and therefore innocent_ look.

She blinked at him, apparently still not expecting this.  “…For a school project?”

“Uh, no—for mailing letters?”

She seemed to agree with Lonnie about kids these days and letters, but was at least humoring them.  “Okay then…how many?”

That started a bit of a discussion, since he didn’t want to buy stamps individually but certainly wasn’t about to buy a book of them—they settled on twenty-five, which Hiro felt was more than enough; he figured he could slip the rest in a drawer somewhere for Aunt Cass to use.  Hopefully she’d just think she’d bought them before and shrug it off.

The next little snag was the bit about _paying_ for them.

Hiro patted his pockets, starting to panic a little—Obake rolled his eye, walked around to the tote bag, stuffed his hand in, dug around—dumped a handful of coins on the counter.

“Uh, right—thanks,” Hiro muttered, counting out the cost and separating the coins as he did so.  A couple of people behind them in line checked their watches, but he didn’t think he had taken all that long.  Put a couple of pennies in the Take-a-Penny tin, scrape the rest of the change back into his hand as the lady rung them up, deposit it in the bag before accepting the stamps and receipt, thanking her, and all but dashing out the door, Obake on his heels.

“We’re done, Baymax,” Hiro said, walking out the door the robot was still holding open.

_“That is good,”_   Baymax said, blinking at them.

“Yeah,” Hiro agreed, taking a deep breath once they were out in the sun—air was starting to warm up a little, wind from the bay still giving a chill, not a cloud in sight.  Sky so crisp and blue it almost hurt to look at.

He looked back down at the poke to his shoulder.

“What?” he asked Obake.

In response, Obake grinned—

Shot down the ramp while he was still processing things.

_“Hey!”_   Hiro barked, running after him.

_“Please take care not to fall,”_   Baymax said, again taking the steps.

 

“Okay, so…maybe three?  Just to be safe.”

They were currently sitting on the curb in front of the post office, next to the nearby post box, Hiro with the letter on his lap and the stamps in his hand, Obake currently holding the tote bag.  He looked to the other kid for confirmation, got a shrug in response.

“Well you’re no help,” Hiro muttered, before scraping at the corner of the stamps to peel them off.  He had vague memories of learning how to mail letters in grade school, but like Lonnie and the post office lady thought, Hiro hadn’t sent a physical letter in years—still pretty sure he knew where the stamps went though.

There was a weird little pleasure in making sure they lined up perfectly with the edges of the envelope, and then with each other—three stamps, precisely and evenly spaced, him with his tongue between his teeth as he placed them and smoothed them out, pushing down a little to be absolutely certain.

“Okay,” he said, holding the envelope up, stamps secure.  “Now…we just mail it.”

Obake nodded, they stood—he held the post box open, looked at Hiro expectantly.

Hiro hesitated a little, fingering the letter—once he put it in there, that was it, he was committed to this—this sham.  The letter for Aunt Cass had been different, somehow—maybe because Obake had been the one to put it in the box.  If he did this….If he did this he was agreeing with the letter, agreeing with the fact that using Tadashi to get rid of bot-fighting money was okay.

But if he didn’t—even with getting rid of this letter, that was still five hundred some dollars in his bag, _way_  more than he could account for if he were caught with it.  He wanted to be rid of the evidence, wanted to wash his hands of it all—bot-fighting had been fun, yes, had succeeded in getting his mind off of things…but he wasn’t certain the guilt was worth it.

Obake was starting to look impatient now, reached forward to grab the letter—

Hiro stuffed his hands forward, into the cool blackness of the post box—hesitated another second before letting go.

As soon as it was out of his hands, as soon as he heard it thump down on the other letters inside, he felt a rush of relief—it was questionable, questionable if it was the right thing to do still, but now it was done—there was no getting that money back, it was gone.  He heaved a sigh of relief, hands thumping against his sides, ignoring the look Obake was giving him as he let the post box bang shut.

“Okay,” Hiro sighed.  “Okay, I’m good.  Now what?”

_“Your plans for the day involved: the post office, and the arcade,”_ Baymax said. _“You also need to be back at the café before two PM.”_

“Right,” Hiro said, clapping his hands—stuffing one into the tote bag when something occurred to him.  “Hey, just how much loose change is in here, anyway?”  Run his fingers through the round disks at the bottom—answer: quite a bit.

He looked at Obake.  “I…am going to say the loose change is _ours,_ right?”

Obake smiled, in a way that made Hiro think _See?  You’re learning!_    Well…it didn’t really make sense to dump a ton of coins on anyone…maybe if they found one of those coin machines.

But until then….

Hiro pointed at Obake.  “Bet you anything I can wipe the floor with you on _Sugar Rush._ ”

Obake looked like he was willing to take that bet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was brought to you by the US Mail. Which may explain the time it took to get here *bricked*  
> Back to brass tacks--hi, this is me, having to look up how much forever stamps cost and how many you can purchase at a time before finally deciding "ah screw it" and fluffing through it. Forever stamps do indeed keep their value no matter what the postage price does, so they're dead-useful, honestly. The post office here is based on the local one I use sometimes, mostly to pick up mail-order chicks. As in baby chickens--have to get up stupid-early to pick them up when they come in, but it's worth it for the baffled expressions on the postal employees. :D  
> In other news, postmarks are definitely a thing, and it's very rarely that letters get mailed without stamps. And the _increase postage by one cent_ thing has happened more than once and caused many an aggravated groan--we finally just started putting a whole dollar in the mailbox along with whatever letter we're mailing and hope for the best. And yes, when I was little I’d run up and down the wheelchair ramp if no one was using it—still do sometimes. And remembering how to mail letters for this fic I haven’t mailed a letter in a hundred years what the bleep. Pretty sure the boys overpaid on the letter though.  
> Lonnie is an OC, he's a sous chef at a fancy-pants restaurant in the city, he lives with his folks in the Hamada's neighborhood and occasionally swaps recipes with Cass. He also agrees that the Walmart hot wings smell funny.


	6. Things We Lost In The Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things we lost to the flame  
> Things we'll never see again  
> All that we've amassed  
> Sits before us, shattered into ash...."
> 
> —"Things We Lost In The Fire" by Bastille

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Look who’s finally back with an update! And even better, I FINALLY HAVE MY DOCTORATE!!!!! I’m so happy man! *sob*
> 
> So been spending the past few days chillin’ to get myself back in order, but here we are, and hopefully I’ll be able to update everything before the year’s out. In the meantime, let’s see what the boys are up to….We’ve got a few quotes from _Angels in the Outfield_ and _Mrs. Doubtfire,_ by the way. :D
> 
> Big Hero 6 © 2014 Disney
> 
> Wreck-It Ralph © Disney (referencing the second movie as well, although I haven’t seen it)
> 
> Angels in the Outfield © 1994 William Dear (Danny Glover says this when JP says something to him for the first time)
> 
> Mrs. Doubtfire © 1993 Chris Columbus (would the BH6-verse-version be based in San Fransokyo?)
> 
> Ultimate Spider-Man © Marvel (again we reference volume 1 of the comic run)

Litwak’s further down the street did indeed have _Sugar Rush_ , but it was closed for repairs—something about a broken wheel he was having to order.  A few other games were under the weather too, but they were able to find plenty of other games to blow quarters and other assorted coins on.  Hiro won handily on skeeball, but he suspected that was because Obake currently had terrible depth perception.  There were plenty of other games that Obake beat him at though, and plenty he beat Obake at—they would have probably been at it all day if Baymax hadn’t set a reminder about heading back home.

They ducked into the convenience store across the street from the post office on their way back, mostly to look for one of those machines that turned coins into cash.  None were forthcoming, and it did seem a waste to pass up perfectly good junk food—hence Hiro nabbing a Pepsi while Obake grabbed a Monster drink.

Hiro also made one more purchase, and one that seemed to baffle Obake when he held it up.

“They’re ice pops,” Hiro said, trying to subtly get Obake to take the blue one.  “They shouldn’t hurt to eat, they’re just flavored ice.”

 _“The: ice,”_   Baymax said, blinking at them.  _“Would help to soothe any swelling.”_

Obake considered.

A few minutes later saw them sitting on the curb, Hiro eating the blue ice pop (Obake hadn’t fallen for it).  The other boy was stuck with a green one though—Hiro stuck his tongue out at him, laughed when he mirrored the action and revealed a green tongue.  Obake was laughing and pointing, so Hiro was certain his whole mouth was blue at this point—he wondered how many people he could freak out like this.

Sigh, watch the light traffic going by as he sucked up the melting juice—bright sunny day, one that had been spent at the arcade, ice pops afterwards…it was a nice day, one that was almost normal.

_I’m sorry about Tadashi._

Another sigh, cold seeping through him that didn’t come from the ice; _almost normal_ was a pipe dream anymore.  There was nothing normal about a life without Tadashi, nothing normal about a life with such a big piece of it gone.  He wanted his brother back—he wanted him back so badly it hurt.

_Physically you are uninjured._

Physically, yes—if he looked like he felt, though…he was honestly surprised he was even remotely functioning.  The only way he had been able to even get out of the house the past two days was to entirely focus on something else—bot-fighting, the arcade, the quest to get rid of the money AKA bot-fighting evidence…little things that he could focus on with a singlemindedness that was _almost_ strong enough to cut through the fugue.

Almost.

Because there was always that undercurrent now—that pain sucking away at him, draining his energy, his essence away, relentless as an incoming tide attacking a sand castle—he might still _look_ okay, might still _act_ okay, but any moment that would all go crumbling down.

And part of him wanted to let it—just get it over with, so he didn’t have to live with this pain anymore.  But he had to hold on—for Aunt Cass’s sake, at least.

He couldn’t help but glance at the main reason he kept being dragged out of the house—couldn’t fully tell what Obake was looking at with that eye covered, not with Hiro sitting on his injured side, but he seemed to be looking at the post office as he sipped at his Monster drink.

Obake—what kind of a name was _ghost,_ anyway?  It might pass as a cool street handle—and he _had_ been street-savvy, the bot-fighting proved that much.

Come to think of it—he knew exactly _nothing_ about this kid. Spent the last…two, three days with him?  He didn’t know any more now than he did when they started.  He actually had _more_ questions now than when he started—who was that Yosei kid anyway, and why was it so important to Obake that Hiro beat them?  How could a kid Hiro’s age be so blasé about a thousand dollars?  What, precisely, happened to him, that made it hurt to talk and required a bandage over half his face?

How was he supposed to deal with this kid when he could almost _feel_ him pulling Hiro’s strings, like he was no more than this week’s entertainment?  Was it really such a good idea to keep him around?

The answer was probably not—but Hiro didn’t want his aunt crushed again, didn’t want to go back to that empty echoing room…even some mute possibly-manipulative kid was an improvement over _that_.

Maybe he was overreacting—Obake was a kid, same as him; he enjoyed goofing off at the arcade and eating ice pops and drinking drinks that probably weren’t the healthiest of choices—Hiro finally had a friend his age, if he were to be so generous as to call Obake that.  Tadashi would go down on _both_ knees at this news—

It felt like a ton of iron rebar being dropped on him.

_Tadashi would never react, because Tadashi was dead._

His soda suddenly tasted like dirt when he took a swig, trying to get the tightness out of his throat—not again, not again—

_It was his fault Tadashi was dead._

Free up a hand to scrub at his face, hope that neither Obake nor Baymax commented—he didn’t need this, he didn’t need any of this, he just wanted to go back to a few months ago when his biggest concern was figuring out how to get into SFIT—

He just wanted his brother back—

“Hey!  Hey Hiro!”

Hiro barely registered his name being called, definitely registered the car horn almost right next to him—jumped, spun—recognized the car and the head sticking out of it.  “Wasabi!  Wait, what are you doing here?”

Tadashi’s friend got out and leaned on the door of the car, indicating it in a half-gesture.  “Summer job as an Uber-driver—need a little extra money in case my funding goes through.  It _shouldn’t,_ but you know—better safe than sorry.”  Peer at him with concern.  “What about _you?_ We haven’t heard from you in _weeks_ —is that Baymax?”

Hiro scrambled upright during this, tossed his trash in a nearby bin and wiped his hands down on his shirt, thinking—better come up with a good story before Baymax said anything about the money—

“Uh, yeah,” Hiro managed finally, deciding to go with at least part of the truth right now.  “He kind of…self-activated…we’re trying to get him back in his charger.”

 _“They are both in need of care,”_   Baymax said.

“Both?” Wasabi echoed—flinched a little; Hiro glanced behind to see Obake mirroring his actions, giving Wasabi an evaluating look.

“Uh…yeah,” Hiro said.  “This is Obake—he’s…this is Obake.”

Wasabi looked like he couldn’t decide between confused, concerned, and amused, among other expressions.  “Did he run into Fred?”

That—would actually explain a lot; he glanced at Obake, saw him looking at Hiro blankly.  “Fred is…one of Tadashi’s friends.”  And saying that would bring up—“Oh man, look at the time—really gotta get home, Aunt Cass has this…thing….”

Wasabi checked his phone.  “I don’t have anything to do right now—hop in, I’ll give you a lift.”

“Uh….” Great.  Couldn’t exactly brush him off.  “Uh, sure, thanks.”

To be fair, it wasn’t even that long a walk, would be an even shorter ride, but he felt that brushing Wasabi off would be more trouble than it was worth.

Of course, he probably should have thought of the logistics of getting Baymax into a car first.

“Okay,” Hiro said, walking around to where Wasabi and Obake were on the sidewalk.  “Maybe we _should_ just walk.”  Obake shifted his weight a little—or maybe not, if Baymax was right about him being in a ‘recent trauma,’ whatever that all entailed.  “Maybe we could tie Baymax to the roof?”

Baymax tried to get out of the car, couldn’t, was wedged in too far from Hiro trying to haul on him from one side and Wasabi and Obake trying to shove him in from the other.  Blink at them, look his situation over.

 _“I will have to deflate in order to fit in the: car,”_   Baymax declared—

What followed was about a minute of three boys trying desperately to pretend that they were anywhere but right there.

“Are you done?” Hiro asked, when Baymax stopped.

Baymax considered, wiggled further into the car—let out another small burst of air.  _“Yes.”_

“Oh- _kay_ , I am going to desperately pretend that this isn’t my car and that I’m not really here buh-bye,” Wasabi muttered, rubbing his neck and scanning the sky as he slid into the driver’s seat.  Hiro looked to see which seat Obake was taking—

“Oh no you don’t,” Hiro said, running after him and dragging him back.  “If I have to suffer, you do too.”

On the positive side, Baymax had ensured that most of the ride was in silence.

“So,” Wasabi noised finally.

“No,” Hiro said sternly, turning a little in the shotgun seat.  “We silently agreed that we’re not going to talk, because talking means we might have to remember it, and I for one do not want to remember this particular car ride.”

Obake tugged himself forward a little on Hiro’s seat so his frantic nodding was evident.

 _“Talking: is an important part of social interaction,”_   Baymax said, a finger up.  _“It is also a crucial part of the healing process.”_

“Baymax, _no—”_

“So I was actually going to ask about Mr. Scarily-Quiet in the back,” Wasabi tried, voice strained.

“Uh…yeah,” Hiro said, glancing behind at Obake.  “Obake…doesn’t exactly talk?  Long story.”

Stop at a stop sign.  “And…you two met _how?”_

“Long story?” Hiro tried—they were literally a block away from home, they could hold off…nope, no, not with that expression, somewhere between confused and consternated; Hiro gusted a sigh before continuing.

“Aunt Cass signed up for this…program…thing,” he said, gesturing weakly.  “So…he’s staying with us now?”

He couldn’t help the glance back at Obake, couldn’t help the unasked question: _Are you staying?   _Obake looked out the window, didn’t acknowledge the questions spoken or unspoken.

“Oh,” Wasabi noised—glance at him, saw the expressions—he wanted to ask the big question, address the elephant in the room—

“Oh look there’s the café,” Hiro said quickly, pointing.  _Finally_ —took all his willpower to wait until Wasabi pulled to the curb and came to a complete stop before unbuckling his seat belt, hands shaking, and tumble out of the car.  “So thanks for the ride, gotta go—”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Wasabi said, startled by Hiro’s speed in getting out.  “Uh, you need any help with—”

“No we’ve got him,” Hiro said, opening the back door so Obake could tug Baymax out.  Obake nodded at him, glanced at Wasabi.

“Thanks,” he rasped, before tugging on Baymax.

“He speaks,” Wasabi gasped, looking both surprised and deeply concerned.

“Oh look at that, the ice pops work,” Hiro squeaked, bouncing a little and mentally begging them to hurry up.  “Okay we’re out gotta get in Aunt Cass will be looking for us—”

 _“I will require a few moments to reinflate,”_   Baymax declared, shuffling a bit on the sidewalk before his vinyl started inflating.

“You can do that in the house,” Hiro said, shooing Baymax towards the café.  “So uh, thanks for the ride, Wasabi!  We really appreciate it!”

“Uh, okay, no problem!”  Wasabi called—almost in the clear—“And, um, Hiro…I’m sorry about Tadashi.”

There—right there, like a shot in the back, shattering him, the blow he had been afraid of.  There was no stopping it, no getting rid of it, no deflecting it—he didn’t…he didn’t _want_ people to be sorry about Tadashi.

He just wanted Tadashi _back_.

“Yeah,” Hiro wheezed, voice weak and squeaky, head and shoulders dipping, despite him trying to stay upright.  “Me too.”

Forget it—just forget it—run into the house, run up the stairs, ignoring Aunt Cass’s _oh you’re home!_ Dive at his bed, burying his face in his pillow. Just…if he just laid there, maybe everything would go away.  Maybe this was all a horrible, horrible dream, and he’d wake up and Tadashi would be alive. He’d give Hiro a hard time for _ages_ , he was sure—every time Hiro gave him grief he’d bring this up, _you’d miss me if I was gone, you know you would!_

He felt someone sit on the edge of his bed, slip on it a bit further—didn’t feel like Aunt Cass.

Maybe he had—maybe this _was_ a dream, and that _was_ Tadashi—

…Or maybe he was just willingly deluding himself, _knew_ he was deluding himself—because if he wasn’t, he’d look; the fact he wasn’t told him all he needed to about _that_ particular daydream.

Whoever it was had upgraded to poking him and shaking him a little—their not saying anything yet gave away the identity.

Hiro rolled to his side, arms crossed, to look at Obake, evaluating him…the other kid’s expression wasn’t judging, or sympathetic—just that aggravating passiveness he had been showing, like he was only paying attention because it was the polite thing to do.

But he wasn’t trying to understand Hiro’s pain, or trying to make him feel better—he was just being there, and right now, Hiro could appreciate that—could appreciate someone looking at shattered glass with enough sense not to tap on it.

“Y’ever…just kinda want to take your life, hold it away from you, and say _that’s not my life?”_   Hiro asked finally, not expecting an answer.  Right now, that was simply how he was feeling, and maybe saying it out loud _did_ make it a little better—to, in a sideways sort of way, acknowledge that this, this right here, was not the life one Hiro Hamada should be living.  There was another life, only a few months ago, when everything was good and right with the world, where he wasn’t looking at it through a shattered window, where if he breathed too deeply the glass would all fall apart.

To his surprise, Obake looked like he was considering that question seriously—nodded with a wry expression, like he found it ironic that Hiro had decided to ask him _that_ question.

Hiro blinked, blinked again to give his mind enough traction to get going again.  “I guess you would,” he said finally, looking at the bandage coating half the boy’s face.  “And I guess asking about it won’t get an answer, will it?”

Obake shook his head.

Hiro considered this.  “I…guess I can respect that.”  Glance up at Aunt Cass calling for them.  “And….”  And what?  What did he have to say?  Nothing wanted to come out, no matter how hard he tried to purge it—it’d get to his throat and tighten, threatening to choke him rather than escape.  There was nothing he _could_ say—just…just get up and pretend like his life hadn’t been utterly destroyed, a huge chunk just ripped out of it.

Obake seemed willing to pretend with him, at least.

“Right,” Hiro muttered, shoving himself into a sitting position.  “We should probably see what Aunt Cass wants—probably about your clothes.”  Consider a moment….“Maybe it’s all embarrassing pink stuff.”

At least he could still laugh at the little things—like Obake’s offended expression and shove at Hiro’s shoulder.  With that, maybe he could pretend a little bit longer.

Maybe he could stave off the inevitable breaking shatter.

 

The whole thing with the clothes was about as aggravating as he thought it would be, honestly—at least Cass and her friend had gotten general measurements, allowed him to slip away as they discussed the box of clothes.

And Hiro—hmm….

Tug him into the living room, point out the game system in an endeavor to get him out of his funk—that annoying shadow in his eyes had made an aggressive comeback on the ride back, had overwhelmed him when they had arrived.

Now, Hiro was busy going through the games and discussing the pros and cons of each one, that shadow still flickering in there—most of these seemed to be party games or ones that required two-player co-op—and then Cass came back in, showing off some of the clothes and discussing maybe washing Obake’s hoodie.  Oi.

Later though, enjoying a _long_ shower with plenty of hot water, he reflected that he had been a bit premature in trying to take off right away.  Sure, the plan was just to get away as fast as possible—but on the same token, hot showers were a luxury he didn’t often get, and it was _nice_ to get a month or more of just an icky feeling off of him, letting the heat soak in—not quite to his bones, but it was an improvement.

And another thing, he reflected as he dried his hair—Hiro.  That boy _did_ have the potential to be entertaining, at the very least…now if only he could get rid of that flickering shadow in his eyes, the memory of the dead brother.  Consistently ruining his fun, and he wasn’t even _here_.

Tug on the new clothes—a little loose, but he didn’t care, made it easier to hide his belongings in his pockets—fluff up his mohawk in the mirror, enjoying the shine on it for once.

But yes—Hiro had the potential to be diverting, quite _fun_ if he set his mind to it—use him up, certainly, toss him aside when he was done.

Although….

Hiro could definitely be an entertaining cohort, if Obake could just unseat the dead brother in his mind—enjoyed the bot-fighting, definitely, until he thought of the brother; was even fun on lesser games such as the arcade, also until that shadow came crashing down. Willing to go along on Obake’s schemes—until the memory of the brother made a comeback.

Now if he could get _rid_ of that somehow…well, he was in the market for a new partner in crime—hopefully Yosei figured out the carefully-worded _screw you_ of grabbing a little kid off the street and having him kick their can.  _Ahh,_ that expression had been _satisfying_.  And served them right, too, after leaving him to be picked up by the cops.

But that was in the past now—as for the present….

He’d have to edit his approach, he felt—because _now_ , he was motivated.

And he could be very dangerous when motivated.

Finish straightening up the bathroom, leave—found Hiro on one of the steps, playing a handheld game.  Sit down near him, wait for him to sense his presence and glance up.

“Oh good,” Hiro noised, going back to his game.  “You were really starting to smell.”

Give him a light kick before scootching over—ah, he saw that smirk—feign interest in the game, cross his arms and look interested when Hiro started explaining it.

He wasn’t sure how long it would take, but he’d win Hiro over.

After all, he was quite adept at getting people to play _his_ game.

 

The entirety of the campus still stunk like smoke and wet ash.

The main exhibition hall and several of the nearby labs had caught fire that night, were now varying levels of utterly destroyed.  The exhibition hall itself had been burned to the ground, the two poor unfortunate souls trapped inside rendered down to ash from the intense heat of the burning chemicals from the exhibits there.  It had been an awful night, one that had resulted in two horrible deaths and several terrible injuries.

People were still reeling from it, that she was absolutely sure of.

Her, for example, gingerly picking through the campus where the fire company had already cleared it, examining the burned husks, having already paid her respects at the shrine on what was left on the exhibition hall steps.  Professor Grace Granville, robotics professor now promoted to dean of robotics in the wake of Professor Callaghan’s death.  She had accepted, knowing that the void needed filling but feeling ill at the speed with which it had been filled.

And also, because she didn’t think she deserved it.

She finally reached the lab she wanted, stood there in the dim ambient lighting of the surrounding city—the streetlights here had yet to be replaced—stared at the blackened skeleton marring the sky.  Look around…there was something odd and sobering about standing in what was left after a fire had raged, of seeing the bones left, of breathing in its remnants.

(The fire company had assured her it was safe to walk around campus, that the smell wasn’t the first sign of some form of chemical poisoning, that it’d take another month or so to fully disperse, would probably be gone as soon as the debris was clear).

It had been chaos that night—no one knew how the fire had started, the fire company couldn’t determine its source, not with the numerous explosions and chemicals involved.  It could have been any number of reasons, the destruction that night.

The sick persisting feeling continued as she looked at one of the destroyed labs, sitting adjacent to the exhibit hall.  One of the explosions in the hall had lit it, the fire company thought.

Or, perhaps, something in one of the labs had started the fire.

She should have said something—should have put a stop to it—should have set _limits_.  She hadn’t—such a brilliant boy had made her think that perhaps he didn’t need them.

What a fool she had been.

There was no proof—nothing to say that was the source of the fire; but she couldn’t help but wonder….

_I have concerns, you giving him free reign—you may view it as limits, but I view it as guidelines.  That boy—I don’t trust him; he’s dangerous.  Very dangerous.  You don’t see it, but it’s there—mark my words, one of these days he’s going to cause some damage you can’t excuse away.  What then?_

What then indeed.

It was true, she had given the boy more breaks, more leniency, more freedom than she usually allowed for students—but it seemed such a shame to tamp down that level of brilliance, especially when feeding that fire dampened his less savory qualities.  She had had hopes that he could be steered into a more beneficial mindset, that if he thought that someone believed he could do great things, he would.

Now the man who had issued her that warning was dead—and the last she had heard of the boy who only answered to _Ghost_ was of him slipping out of the hospital he had been taken to after being pulled out of the wreckage of the labs.

And it was _her_ fault.

Callaghan was right—she should have established limits, should have put her foot down—should have at _least_ told him he couldn’t operate without supervision, that being in the labs after hours was off-limits—whether he was the source of the explosion or just an innocent bystander, he shouldn’t have been there, and that was her fault.

The deaths of two people might be her fault as well.

She wouldn’t be sure until the forensic team had finished scouring the campus to their hearts’ content and shared with them their results.  Until then, she had that worry eating away at her.

Another one eating at her: what had become of Obake. She had seen him, when they had taken him away in the ambulance—one month of hospitalization wasn’t nearly enough time for him to be disappearing into the night.  He hadn’t shown up at the campus, as far as she knew—or perhaps he had, to find that it had shut down while cleanup was going on.  After that, she wasn’t sure what he’d have done—it had been a chance encounter that saw them crossing paths, and she never knew much of his life before SFIT; he never saw fit to share.  What she _had_ learned, she had learned by accident.

And she had learned that he didn’t really have a support system outside of campus—barely had one _on_ campus.  Callaghan wasn’t the only one who had had concerns about him—he was polite, he kept to himself, but he was more than willing to show fangs when he thought he could get away with it.

And that attitude might have resulted in death and destruction.

She sighed, shook her head, headed back for the administration building, one of the only ones on campus with lights still on—a few people were working there, calculating costs and organizing the online courses that were still able to go on in spite of everything.

“So?” Mrs. Hicks asked, when she came in.  “How’s it looking?”

“Destroyed,” Granville told her, walking by.  “I was just getting a cup of coffee before heading home.”

Mrs. Hicks nodded.  “I’m sorting this mail and then heading home myself.”

That was it on the small talk—Granville made a small to-go cup, turned, walked by Mrs. Hicks’ desk again on the way out—

Stopped and came back upon registering her expression.  “What is it?”

In response Mrs. Hicks handed her the letter, started counting out the money as she skimmed it over.

“I mean—it barely makes a dent, but…this was so nice,” Mrs. Hicks said finally, gesturing to the money.  “This is the nicest thing—can you believe it?”

“Barely,” Granville said—there was something about the letter—it was polished, _too_ polished, to the point it felt fake—

And familiar, she realized.

She looked at the money on the desk.  “How much is there?”

“About two-hundred and fifty dollars,” Mrs. Hicks said.  “And the letter said there was more coming—donations from the neighborhood!  Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Yes,” Granville said, putting the letter down.  “Good night, Mrs. Hicks.”

She was sure the other teacher wasn’t expecting such an abrupt departure, but she needed to digest this new wrinkle—mostly because it gave her a clue as to what Obake had been doing after leaving the hospital.  Two-hundred and fifty dollars was a pittance in regards to the damages to the school, but for a boy with no clear financial means, it was a surprising windfall.

And, looking out on the gleaming city and its deep shadows, she had to wonder just what he was up to, and what he was planning next.  And simply hope that whatever it was, it was something good.

Somehow, she doubted it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The machine Hiro’s looking for is a Coinstar, by the way. And Mrs. Hicks is based on a combo of one of my science teachers and my recollections of the women working at my first college (I’m almost out of college, that’s so surreal). And hey look! Wasabi and Professor Granville! :D
> 
> According to one of the shorts, Wasabi _is_ an Uber-driver, or at least moonlights as one, which didn't end well for him apparently—this is not the first time he's had to drive Obake somewhere. D:
> 
> In other news, I have concerns that in the comments section of “Things We Lost In The Fire,” topping the list is Tadashi Hamada. D:
> 
> And—and can we just discuss the fact that in canon, Professor Granville and Callaghan were teaching at SFIT at the same time? Meaning that Callaghan would have been teaching Obake? _Please,_ I need you to picture this.


	7. Mess Is Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bring me to your house  
> Tell me _sorry for the mess_  
>  Hey, I don't mind.  
> You're talking in your sleep  
> Out of time  
> Well, you still make sense to me  
> Your mess is mine.  
> \--"Mess Is Mine" by Vance Joy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! Chapter 7, everyone, and the first chapter of the new decade! And hopefully not the last *bricked* I’ll stop making that joke eventually, I swear….  
> Lots of references this chap, brace yourself:  
> Big Hero 6 © 2014 Disney  
> Lilo + Stitch © 2002 Chris Sanders; Disney  
> “California Girls” © 1965 Beach Boys  
> “Cake by the Ocean” © 2015 Joe Jonas  
> Arthur © 1996 Marc Brown  
> Kung-Fu Panda © 2008 DreamWorks (we don’t think it’s a panda operating the cart…)  
> Pirates of the Caribbean © 2003 Disney (“And then they made me their chief” remains as the most entertaining non-sequitur to me)  
> Treasure Planet © 2002 Disney  
> Atlantis: The Lost Empire © 2001 Disney  
> Metroid © 1986 Nintendo (been watching Arlo vids and that prompted this)  
> Wreck-It Ralph © 2012 Disney (Hiro [and Fred] both have Cybug toys in the movie)  
> Transformers © 1984 Hasbro  
> Percy Jackson and the Olympians © 2010 Rick Riordan  
> Maze Runner © 2009 James Dashner

Next day was fairly slow and sunny, so Cass closed up early and told the boys they were going to the beach.

It was something, she felt—a change of pace, a treat, a way to get them out of the house and in such a way that she’d be able to keep an eye on them.  It wouldn’t be anything big—they’d go, eat junk food and wander through stores on the boardwalk and then come home—but she wanted to keep up this run of Hiro getting out of the house.

Maybe this _would_ work out, she mused.

Currently she was standing next to Baymax on the trolley, who was busy blinking and examining everyone, lingering on a kid who was busy poking at his sleek white vinyl until his mother dragged him back to his seat.  Sitting in front of her were Hiro and Obake, sandwiched against the end of the bench seat by the sheer number of people currently on the trolley—she should have guessed everyone else would have the same idea.  It would certainly explain why the café was dead on a Friday.

But this would be good, she felt—would get some fresh air, continue this streak…hopefully.  Hiro was looking withdrawn, sitting there, Obake still with that distant look in his eye.  Both of them absent in their own way.  Well, maybe getting some sun would help.

They unloaded at a plaza, walked a bit after getting some French fries at Thrashers, read a few walls of T-shirts before finding a vending machine, got a few drinks—which was about when Baymax said something about taking a break.

Hiro looked at him blankly.  “We literally just started.”

Baymax looked at Obake, who glared at him.   _“It is not proper health practice to be straining oneself so soon after an injury.  Obake: should at least be taking breaks from walking on a regular basis.”_

Oh— _oh_.  Oh she was such an idiot she had forgotten entirely…it was easy to do with the way he kept following Hiro around everywhere, but….

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she said, waving a little and herding them over to the beach where a stage and a lot of picnic benches were set up.  “We can just—hey, I love this song!”

Neither Hiro nor Obake seemed impressed by the band’s cover of the Beach Boys’ “California Girls,” but Hiro seemed to be a bit more invested in their next song, “Cake by the Ocean,” something she had heard on the radio recently.

Obake was resolutely watching the band after glancing at her and noticing her looking at him carefully.

But she could see it, now that she was looking—the careful way he was holding himself, the hint of pain around the eye….

_He was in an explosion about a month ago._

What on _earth_ had this poor boy lived through?

She glanced at Baymax, flicked her eyes at Obake, back at him—Baymax looked down, pointed at his chest—flashed a timer at her, labeled _minimum recommended rest time._

“Okay,” she said.  “So while we’re here why don’t I get us something more substantial, call it lunch?  The band’s pretty good at least,” she added, when they launched into an Elvis song.

“Yeah sure,” Hiro said, glancing at her.  “Pizza?”

“Maybe Grotto’s can be for dinner.”

Hiro shrugged, and she could almost _see_ him starting to slide back into that morass he had just eeked out of.

She ruffled his hair, successfully teasing a reaction out of him, kissed him on the head.  “And maybe ice cream.”

“For breakfast?” Hiro asked.

If that was what it took.  “We’ll see.  Last hug.”

Deep breath as she walked away, glancing back at them before going to the nearest food vendor…yes, they’d see. They’d get through this.  The rest of the world still spun and went on, even as their life had crashed to a halt.  They could hop back on.

Hopefully.

 

It was really too cheerful and sunny out here.

That wasn’t a fair assessment, and Hiro knew it—he just couldn’t shake that feeling.  It wasn’t fair that the rest of the world kept spinning when his had slammed to a painful halt.  It shouldn’t be sunny and cheerful outside when it was dank and gloomy inside.

Visiting the boardwalk didn’t help, because it was the sort of thing they did as a family—and all it did was make it very pointedly obvious that Tadashi wasn’t here anymore.

And made it very pointedly obvious that he was dealing with an enigma instead.

Okay, so maybe having to take a break wasn’t such a random thing, he knew from yesterday that Obake had apparently gotten into _something_ —except he didn’t know what.  No wait, scratch that, he _did_ know what, the adoption lady had said _he was in an explosion about a month ago._   Which had just added to the intrigue at first, coupled with the handful of minutes at the adoption agency—but now, having several days to reflect on things…he really should have expected that this kid would be a troublemaker.  Should have totally _not_ been surprised that he tried to take off, or dragged him to bot-fighting, or knew precisely how to move a thousand dollars without it tracing back to him (the last two envelopes had been addressed, stamped, and slipped into a postbox on the way over).  This kid could be _so_ much trouble, especially with his expression now—that studiously blank expression, like he’d rather be anywhere but here but knew that looking as such would be impolite.  Compare and contrast his expression during the bot-fight tourney—his very, _very_ _concerning_ expression—

_“HEADS UP!”_

Hiro barely had enough time to react when a volleyball beaned him in the back of the head—was just barely able to keep his face from slamming into the table, nearly skinned his hands for his trouble.

“AOOWH!” he ground out, scrubbing the back of his head—look up at the sound of _wff-wff-wff_ —“No wait Baymax _no_ —"

_“I was alerted to the need for assistance when you said ‘ow,’”_   Baymax said, now even with him.  _“I will scan you now.”_

Hiro made a face at Obake, who had caught the volleyball when it bounced off Hiro’s head—Obake glanced behind Hiro, scowling—

“Yo dudes sorry about that was _totally—HIRO!”_ the surfer-dude beach bum that had run over started, rapped Hiro on the shoulders as his expression went from _dude so sorry_ to _DUDE!_  “Hiro, my man!  Where’ve you been _my dude_ we’ve been _way_ worried about you is that Baymax Baymax _my man_ my bot my bud how’ve you been? _”_

Hiro blinked at surfer-dude-beach-bum, realized he recognized him.  “Fred! Ah, what are you….”

“Ah right yeah—see, what it is is, I’m not allowed in the yacht club anymore, because reasons, so Mom lets me hang on the beach instead while she’s there,” Fred said, stuffing a hand into his board shorts as he gestured with the other.  “Which is cool, pretty sure everyone wins there—except maybe Mom because she has to deal with _Binky_ , but whatevs.  How’ve you been anyway?  Wasabi said he saw you…like, yesterday, I think—you okay?”

Hiro had no idea how to process anything that Fred had just said, from Fred being banned from a yacht club (maybe understandable) to whatever a _Binky_   was (Hiro was pretty sure it wasn’t the character from _Arthur_ )—was cut off from answering by Baymax plopping a hand on his head.

_“There is a: minor contusion, from the: volleyball,”_   Baymax said.   _“A: cold compress, will help to reduce the swelling.”_

“Ah man, totally sorry about that that was my bad—hey, you didn’t see where that ball went, did you—”

Which was about the time Obake had apparently decided he had enough—flung the volleyball at Fred’s head, knocking him down with a blurted _“OW!”_

_“Wha—hey!”_   Hiro barked, glaring at Obake.  “That was _totally uncalled for!”_

Obake shrugged, adopting that studiously bland expression again.

Baymax, meanwhile, had given Fred his healthcare-companion spiel and scanned him.

_“You have a: minor contusion, from the: volleyball,”_   Baymax said.

“Yeah no I got it,” Fred said, scrambling up and after the volleyball.   _“Dudes! Gonna tap out—ball!”_ Flung the ball away at a group of people, came back—stopped flat when Baymax put a hand on his face.  “Dude, don’t high-five the face.”

_“A: cold compress, will help to reduce the swelling.”_

“You know what actually this does feel good give me a minute.”

Hiro scowled, tried to get Baymax’s hand off his head—wasn’t succeeding.  “Ugh, _Baymax….”_

“Okay I’m back and— _what_ happened?” Aunt Cass asked, taking in the scene.

“Yo Aunt Cass, how’s it hanging?” Fred asked, voice muffled by Baymax’s hand—gave a thumbs-up in her general direction.

_“There were incidents with volleyballs,”_   Baymax told her.

“Yeah that was my bad,” Fred said, pushing Baymax’s hand off his face.  “Ooh, Ping’s Noodle Cart!  They make like, the _best_ noodles—have you tried their secret noodle soup?”

“One of the things I ordered,” Aunt Cass said, putting the bags down on the table.  “Are you guys all right?”

“I’m fine, Baymax is overreacting,” Hiro protested.

_“I am acting within my healthcare protocols,”_   Baymax told him.

_“Baymax….”_

“Nah, it’s cool,” Fred said, looking at Obake.  “So who’s super-scary quiet dude with the mean serve?”

Hiro was vaguely tempted to not answer and see what sort of name Fred would come up with, had the hope of Obake being saddled with a lame name dashed when Aunt Cass said “This is Obake.  He’s…new.”

“Well nice to meet you my new dude, I’m Fred and I’d rather not have any more sports equipment to the face, alright?”

Obake ignored Fred’s proffered fist, instead focusing on a little container of what smelled like kimchi.

“Dude,” Fred said.  “Don’t leave me hanging, bro.”

“He doesn’t talk,” Hiro said.

“Ah, cool cool, I guess I get that—like a vow of silence thing.”

Obake looked like it was taking a _lot_ of effort to keep that bland expression now, wasn’t quite succeeding if the line between his eyebrows was any indication.

It was enough to prompt Hiro’s next question, even if it was a knee-jerk reaction.  “Hey Fred—want to sit with us?”

“Dude that’d be AWESOME _yes_ ,” Fred said, immediately plopping down—Hiro snickered at Obake’s deepening grief.  “Only like, can I beg some—oh yes thank you,” he said upon Aunt Cass shoving a full paper plate in front of him.

“I ordered Dragon Warrior size,” she said by way of explanation, divvying out a few more plates for Hiro and Obake.  “Go nuts.”

“Will _totally_ do.”

Hiro and Obake still didn’t eat much after the moment of silence, although Hiro was able to fluff by a bit with Fred eating his fair share—at least until Baymax called him out on it.  Darn healthcare robot.

But they were able to pretend that things were almost normal—Fred was weirdly skilled at avoiding painful topics (basically anything directly related to Tadashi), kept everyone regaled with his various comic book theories and _why the early 2000s had THE most criminally underrated Disney movies EVER we TOTALLY deserved a sequel to Atlantis and Treasure Planet_—Hiro copied Obake’s studiously blank expression then, trying very hard not to absorb too much on the topic; Tadashi had dedicated a few years of his life to sending letters to Disney about those movies.

Obake seemed to notice this, tipped his head at Hiro—Hiro shook his head minutely.  Not now.   _Please,_ not now.  And then kick him under the table when he shot a glare at Fred.

The take-out had long since vanished and the band playing swapped out with another when a well-dressed lady came over.

“And then they made him their chief,” Fred was telling a riveted Aunt Cass—glanced up when the lady stopped at their table.  “Hey, Madre!  Yacht thing over already?”

“I stood as much as I was able,” the lady said, before looking at Aunt Cass.  “Hello—I hope Fredrick wasn’t giving you any trouble.”

“What?  Oh no, he’s fine, he was just telling us about this story he read.”

“Totally awesome, I’ll send you a link.  Anywho, this is my friend Hiro, and this is his aunt Cass—and that’s Baymax and Obake, Baymax is the big marshmallow guy.”

_“Hello,”_   Baymax greeted, waving and looking Fred’s mom (wow wasn’t expecting that) up and down.  _“You are in good health.”_

“Well that’s good to know, thank you.  Are you ready to go, Fredrick?”

“Sure sure—be seeing you guys!” Fred said, waving and shooting finger-guns at them as he left with his mom, who waved politely.  “Great seeing you out and about, Hiro!”

“Bye, Fred,” Hiro said, waving.  “Wow. I…was _not_ expecting Fred’s mom to…actually, I don’t know what I expected.”  Come to think of it, just expecting Fred to have sprang fully-formed out of the Californian surfer-dude stereotype was kind of thin.  Was also probably time to discard the _college experiment that developed a mind of his own_ theory too.

“She seemed nice,” Aunt Cass said.  “And I really need to look up some of those stories Fred was talking about.”  Gather up everything—“Are we ready to hit the boardwalk again?”

They were able to get a bit farther before Baymax stopped them again—ate ice cream as they sat on a bench, started up again; spent the next break in a bookstore, Hiro looking over the new young adult books as Aunt Cass asked about some of the stories Fred recommended to her and Obake sat cross-legged against a shelf, reading.

Hiro also tried _very_ hard to ignore the sound of air leaving a balloon, followed by the _wff-wff-wff_ that was a deflated Baymax coming over to them.

They had a couple of bags after that, Baymax offering to take them (no one refused, especially after Hiro recalled that Baymax _could_ lift a thousand pounds), looked at a few more stores to comment on various knickknacks.  They did make it to Grotto’s, ended up bringing home nearly a whole pizza, Hiro trying _very_ hard not to fall asleep on the trolley ride back home.

Aunt Cass poking him awake told him he hadn’t succeeded.

“Well that was fun, right?” she asked, as Hiro yawned and pushed himself off from Baymax’s side.  Hiro glanced at Obake briefly, already knowing he wouldn’t answer or even respond.

“Yeah,” Hiro said, trying hard to inject some enthusiasm into it and keep it from sounding so brittle.  “Yeah, that was great—we should do it again sometime.”

Aunt Cass smiled, and Hiro was of the opinion that he should be getting an Oscar for this performance.  Just—fake it for her.

At least for a little while.

 

Obake was more than willing to wash the sand and salt air off of him, reflected that he probably couldn’t scrub hard enough to get the inaneness that was Fred out of his mind.  Oi.

Dressed in new old clothes again, swapped out with Hiro—tromped downstairs with the vague plan of finding his hoodie he _liked_ his hoodie darnit was that too much to ask?  Eventually found the clothesbasket sitting next to a folding closet, found his hoodie folded up on top—tugged it back on immediately.  Ah, now _that_ was more like it.

Pace back through the house as he shuffled his pocket-sized belongings back into his hoodie pockets, slip by Aunt Cass as she worked in the kitchen—prep work for the café, it looked like— _please_ be prep-work for the café, if he ate as much as she apparently _thought_ he ate he’d be the size of the guy that had been operating that noodle cart.

Slip back up the steps, pause to examine the pictures hanging on the walls.  Hmm…standard cutesy family fare, quite a few pictures dedicated to the cat.  Huff, start to continue up to the bedroom—paused at one larger photo, one showing a whole family.

Obake considered the picture—he recognized Cass, and the toddler might have been Hiro.  The rest he wasn’t sure about.

“That was us before.”

He blinked, turned to see Hiro staring at the picture as well, eyes distant.  “It was raining, and they went for a drive,” he continued, tone heavy with something—sadness, maybe, for something that never was.  “I was too young to remember anything.  About them, about their deaths.” Small sad quirk of his mouth.  “Aunt Cass said she started feeding me ice cream for breakfast to get me eating afterwards.”

Obake blinked at him, looked back at the picture.

“What about you?”

Jerk—look back at Hiro, at the question he had asked.

“I hear you cry at night, sometimes,” he continued, fidgeting a little.  “And…well, you don’t…you don’t end up where you were, if you…I mean….”

He knew what he meant, and he didn’t need sympathy or empathy or whatever it was Hiro was angling for—he didn’t need that shadow in Hiro’s eyes getting buddies.

He needed to get his mind off of things.

Grab Hiro, haul him up the steps, to the bedroom—resolutely ignore the dead brother’s side of the room, the white robot going _“Hello”_ —planted Hiro in front of the toy shelves.  That had been the plan, right?

Hiro blinked, looked the shelves over…looked at him.  “I thought you weren’t into toys.”

Obake shrugged; he wasn’t, but getting Hiro out of that funk was the priority here.  Hiro was no use to him constantly thinking of those people.

“Hmm,” Hiro noised, looking back at the shelves—picked a toy off the shelf.  “I don’t know….”

Oh no you don’t—grab a different toy, an articulating robot, stick its arm out and poke it against the toy experimentally.

Hiro looked amused.  “You know, you look _totally_ uncomfortable right now.”

Obake made a face at him that hopefully telegraphed how much he _didn’t_ want to be doing this right now.  _I’m doing this for you, you ingrate—you have potential, but you’re of no use to me lost in that funk of yours._

Hiro’s expression screwed into a different layer of amusement, mouth scrunching up like he was trying to keep in a laugh.  “Uh, yeah, let’s try something else,” he said, grabbing a few more toys.  “You seem to like destroying things with battlebots—let’s see how you handle having to _make_ something.”

Hiro’s comment made a _bit_ more sense when he pulled out a cardboard box full of old cereal boxes and other assorted cardboard recyclables—maybe less so when he stacked several boxes on top of each other and put the round green toy on top.

“Aaah oh no the cybugs have taken the tower!” Hiro said, pitching his voice to sound more panicked—and getting it reedy-sounding, in Obake’s opinion.  Pick up one of the humanoid toys.  “We’re going to have to take the tower back!  Who’s with me?”

Obake considered the setup, picked up the robot, pushed it against the tower until it fell over.

“Uh, yeah, wow, you really suck at this,” Hiro said, scoffing a little as he looked at the mess.  When he spotted Obake’s frustrated gesture: “Come on, it’s—it’s _playing,_ like role-playing?  I shouldn’t have to explain this concept to you.  Come on, let’s try again,” he said, stacking the boxes.

Obake huffed, glanced away—glared at the robot watching them, glare deepening when it raised a finger.   _“Playing is an important part of childhood development.”_

“See?  He gets it,” Hiro said, pointing.  “Okay, so, maybe backstory this time—this is a cybug, it eats stuff and gets stronger from it, and it’s taken the tower where…um…ooh—where the switch for the beacon that destroys the cybug is.  This is Samus,” he continued, picking up the toy from earlier.  “She eats bugs like that for breakfast, because she goes from planet to planet killing them, but she can’t just go after it because…um…hold this,” he said, shoving the toy at Obake before scurrying back to the shelves.  Obake watched, mildly confused, as Hiro grabbed several toys off the shelves before sliding back over, dumping the toys on the floor before arranging them around the cardboard tower.

“Okay,” Hiro said.  “So where was I?  Right.”  Take the Samus toy back.  “So usually she goes all over killing bugs like these, but there’s all these other guys…um, working motivation is they’re evil—I _think_ we have a Ripley toy I don’t know where it is though—so there’s all these guys, so she needs help, and that’s where you come in with that guy…I don’t remember which Transformer that is just pick a name—and since they’re _also_ spacefaring, it makes sense that there’d be a team-up—someone in charge needs to get on that that’d be a cool movie—anyway.  We take the tower back _without destroying it,”_   he said sternly, narrowing his eyes when Obake lifted the robot.  “Because if the tower’s destroyed then there’s no way to kill the cybugs.”  Look the situation over, point at the robot Obake was feeling very silly holding.  “That one can be Bumblebee—he got his vocal mechanics damaged so he doesn’t talk.  Usually he communicates through radio broadcasts, but for the sake of moving this along I’ll let you slide.”

Goody.

What followed was about five hours of following Hiro’s prompts and nodding along to the running story he pitched—or maybe it was five minutes, he didn’t know, it felt like forever before Hiro plucked the cybug off the tower and replaced it with Samus.

“Wow,” Hiro drawled, sitting back on his haunches and giving him a look.  “You absolutely hated that, didn’t you?”

Obake kept his expression neutral as he quickly ran through the pros and cons of the responses to that.

Hiro pointed at him with the cybug in his hand.  “You really suck at this, I want you to know this.”  At Obake’s huff: “Well fine, let’s see you do better.”

Hmmm…hunch down, tap his chin, considering…role-playing, you say?

Maybe he could use this as a test to see just how _clever_ Hiro was—and just how worth it he was.

Hence why he was dismantling the tower, emptying the cardboard box of the rest of the refuse, arranging it in such a way that it formed a maze, situated the villainous monsters throughout it—got a few more from the shelves, plus some items from the table before sitting back down and finishing up.

When he was done, he handed the Samus toy to Hiro.

“Hmm,” Hiro noised, looking it over.  “I am guessing that I’m working through a maze.  What’s my motivation?”

Obake quickly scribbled out the bare bones on the notepad he had gotten from the desk: _Daedalus’ Labyrinth, you’re after his database at the end, the monsters want to stop you._

“So it’s Percy Jackson stuff,” Hiro said, looking his writing over.  “Okay, so Samus’ laser cannon is powered by Greek fire.”

Obake had absolutely no idea who Percy Jackson was—a movie director, maybe—he just much rather envisioned the total of Daedalus’ concepts in something a bit more modern than a dusty old tome.

In the meantime, he quite enjoyed moving the walls around on Hiro, exposing him to more monsters, multiple at once, occasionally opening up one of the sides to justify introducing more.

“Okay, now we’re getting into that _Maze Runner_ movie,” Hiro groused at one point—ah me, the entertainment world moved on without him—

But eventually, Hiro plunked down the Samus toy at the end with a satisfied _aha!_ Grinned up at him.  “Okay, my turn.”

Obake gestured.   _Fine by me._

Hiro scrambled—produced another box of cardboard, pulled a stack of books off a bookshelf—Obake tipped his head to scan the spines as Hiro arranged everything.  _Percy Jackson and the Olympians_.  Okay, so maybe he had some reading to do.

For now though, Hiro had announced a new trial—exclaimed with delight when he pulled out a plastic container of outdated dinosaurs, said they had crash-landed on a planet occupied by dinosaurs “And wait I got it—the _cybug_ ate Ripley, so now he’s like a mutant cybug like the end of the movie—”  Kept producing new means to expand the little toy realm, Obake starting to get into it as they alternated back and forth, scurrying past the robot blinking and watching them—

Hiro jumped up on the bed when it was Obake’s turn next, clutching the Samus toy and watching him as he pulled out all the stops, emptied all the shelves, worked on the desk next, the closet—ooh, _this_ one had a remote!

Finish up, step back—gestured at his creation, quite proud of himself.

“Wow,” Hiro noised.  “San Fransokyo.”

Yes indeed.

And with that set up, he plunked down the Kentucky Kaiju toy he had found, pulled out the remote, and set to making the toy destroy the model city.

Hiro watched for a while without comment before looking at him.  “So maybe no more Monster drinks for you.”

Obake made a face at him—snapped his attention around when he heard the robot greet _“Aunt Cass”—_

“Why are you two still up?” she asked, before registering the state of the room.  “What happened here?”

“Cybugs,” Hiro supplied.  “Recently kaiju.”

Cass apparently had to take a few moments to process this.  “Okay…so next the clean-up crew happens—tomorrow, you two get to bed _now_.”

Hiro groaned, flopping backwards.  “Tomorrow’s Saturday!”

“And you’ll have to get up early to clean this mess!”

“Not _that_ early.”

_“Eight to ten hours is the beneficial amount of time for sleep,”_   the robot posed, lighting up a digital readout on its chest.  _“It is: 11:30 PM now.  Disrupting circadian rhythms is also negatively impactful to your health.”_

“What happened to earlier, about play being beneficial to our health?”

_“Sleep: is also beneficial to your health.”_

“The healthcare robot has spoken,” Cass said, pointing at the beds.  “Now bed.”

Hiro groaned again, but burrowed under the covers, gave a small smile when Cass picked her way over to kiss him, returned the hug she gave him.  Obake put the remote aside, waved her off when she looked over at him, crawled under his own covers to stare at the ceiling once she turned the light off.

“So I’m guessing you aren’t going to try running off tonight with everything on the floor here,” Hiro sounded after a few minutes.  When Obake sat up to glare at him: “Yes I brought it up it’s still a thing.  Mwahaha, I tricked you into trapping yourself, I am the final winner here tonight in this game.”

Obake huffed, flopped back down in his bed, listened to Hiro chortle to himself—

Knew by the way Hiro drifted off that his mind had gone back to those old ghosts again.

Drat it all, he needed a way to stop this—Hiro was sharp when he wasn’t thinking of those lost to him, was entertaining, diverting—this persisting skein of sadness coating him just wouldn’t do.  He needed a way to cut through it, drag Hiro out of his morass so they could have some actual _fun_ —not this play business, _real_ fun.

He wasn’t going to get that right away, he could see that.  He needed something he could really sink into, that would thoroughly distract this other boy.  Maybe tomorrow.  Maybe he could convince him into another bot-fight, spin a song and dance about how helpful the money from the last one was and how easy it was to move the cash—that was obvious enough now, he thought.

He blinked when he realized his new plan would have him staying here a bit longer.

Well…he could live with that.  Take it easy for a bit longer, let his poor aching ribs heal—this was infinitely better than laying in some hospital bed anyway.  And then—and then, when he succeeded…they would be brilliant together, he decided.  Hiro had the potential to be _much_ more useful than Yosei had ever been, and he had the sneaking suspicion he could foster loyalty from this boy.

It was just a matter of playing the long game at this point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First half of the chapter is based on my family’s trips to the boardwalk—Grotto’s and Thrashers are real restaurants, you ever get the chance you should totally try them. :D Second half was written before the first, mostly because I couldn’t stop picturing Hiro saying Lilo’s line (if Lilo and Stitch had been made later or Big Hero 6 made earlier, I guarantee you we would have seen a little Baymax in that scene).
> 
> According to the series, Fred was 100% banned from the yacht club—which makes sense, considering it appears he drove a boat through it. Obake, meanwhile, is thinking of Peter Jackson. And the joy of Baymax making statements about sleeping habits…which I wrote at midnight. It’s like he’s trying to speak to me. :O
> 
> And next chapter sees us finally kicking the movie storyline into gear! Stay tuned! :D


	8. Finders Keepers, Losers Weepers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mortal kings are ruling castles  
> Welcome to my world of fun—  
> Liars settle into sockets  
> Flip the switch and watch them _run!_
> 
> —"Emperor's New Clothes" by Panic! at the Disco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! Chapter 8, everybody, and we are finally, FINALLY into the movie’s plot! Let us see how this goes….
> 
> Big Hero 6 © 2014 Disney  
> Lilo + Stitch © 2002 Chris Sanders; Disney  
> Emperor’s New Groove © 2000 Disney (“No touchy”)  
> National Treasure © 2004 Jon Turteltaub  
> Winnie the Pooh © 1924 A.A. Milne  
> The Lion King © 1994 Disney (“Why do I always have to save your—AAAAAH!”)  
> Kingdom Hearts © Disney; Square Enix  
> Metroid © 1986 Nintendo (been watching Arlo vids and that prompted this)  
> Wreck-It Ralph © 2012 Disney (Hiro [and Fred] both have Cybug toys in the movie)  
> Percy Jackson and the Olympians © 2010 Rick Riordan

Hiro was able to see for himself the efficacy of the unintentional trap they had laid last night early the next morning when—heading downstairs for breakfast when Aunt Cass called—he accidentally stepped on a Lego.

_“I was alerted to the need for assistance—”_

_“I know, Baymax!”_

This also had the side effect of waking Obake up, which wasn’t exactly something he was hoping for—ugh, what is it with these people and being morning people let him sleep and _close that stupid blind already!_

Unfortunately, being awake meant his mind started kicking into gear, and he _knew_ he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep that way—sigh, get up, shuffle to the steps to avoid falling victim to one of the toys scattered around.  Okay, so maybe destroying a model San Fransokyo _was_ a bit much.

On the positive side, Cass was starting to dial back a bit on serving breakfast—he was _pretty_ certain there wasn’t a kitchen sink on this table.

Ugh, they needed to speed this along—cozy family living was driving him up the wall.  Where was the excitement?  The danger?  The destruction?  Thus far the most dangerous thing in this house was himself and that Lego—and the latter wouldn’t be a problem much longer.

They needed to pick things up.

Which was what Cass told them after breakfast.

“Go upstairs, clean up that mess,” she ordered, pointing at the stairs.  “You guys can goof off afterwards.”

“Aw come _on,_ Aunt Cass,” Hiro protested.  “Do we have to?”

_“A clean room is: beneficial to your health,”_ the robot said.  “ _As evidenced by this morning’s injury.”_

“Wait what?” Cass asked.

“It’s nothing,” Hiro said quickly.

_“Hiro stepped on a: Lego,”_  the robot said.

“There, see?  That room is an accident waiting to happen, go clean it up,” Cass said, shooing them back up the stairs.  Joy.

At least that was also Hiro’s opinion when they got upstairs.

“This was a lot more fun _making_ the mess,” he sighed, looking everything over before picking up the offending Lego.  “This is _your_ fault.”

Obake huffed, turned a box so it was open side up, started dumping toys in there.

“Hey hey hey _no,”_  Hiro protested, stopping him.  “These guys go on the shelf—if we’re going to do this we’re going to do this _right.”_

Dismissive snort, pick up a book and gave him a look.

“Books go on the shelf over there,” Hiro said, pointing.

Oi vey—start collecting the books, shelving them as Hiro picked his way through the mess and collected toys based on whatever inane sorting system he had— _Percy Jackson and the Olympians._   Ah right, this one had looked interesting enough.  Flip through it, giving it a cursory examination—hmm, well it _seemed_ to be about Greek mythology, but then it had things like the St. Louis Arch and the Empire State Building and some record store in Los Angeles—one seemed to be all about the Labyrinth though, that might have some promise.

“You’re _seriously_ not reading on the job while I’m doing all the work, are you?” Hiro asked—Obake made a waffling motion with a hand, shelved the book. “Good, because if you were all the Legos are going to find their way into your mattress.”

Obake scowled at him, spent the rest of the time shelving the books plotting ways to get back at Hiro if he acted upon that scheme.  Collect the boxes when he was finished, sort them all back together, Hiro putting the various toys away, Obake collecting some of the scattered ones and dumping them on Hiro’s bed so he could figure it out from there.

“So maybe this won’t take as long as I thought it would,” Hiro said after maybe an hour of blessed silence, glancing at a clock as he put the toy cybug up.  “Maybe video games after this?  Or we could try the arcade again, we’ve still got a ton of coins left.”

Hmm—well if he was asking Obake’s opinion…snap his fingers at Hiro, go over to where Megabot had been returned to its spot on the desk.

“Oh no,” Hiro said, waving his hands in a negative fashion when Obake picked the battlebot up.  “No no _no_ have you learned _nothing no.” _ Take the battlebot back, open a drawer and shove it in.  “We’re not doing that again, okay?  Once was enough.”

Oh come on, that hadn’t been _nearly_ enough—the first time was fine, sure, but that was mostly fueled by revenge—now he had the option of doing it for _fun_.  And for the added dig of parading his new cohort under Yosei’s nose…okay fine he was still mad.

Not that he hadn’t expected this resistance—pick up the jar they had deposited the coins in, shake it a little while indicating downstairs; _she appreciated the money and you know it._

Hiro was glaring at him now, fists balled, something brittle in his eyes—ugh, the stupid brother.

“No,” he said finally . “We’re not doing that.”

The marshmallow robot looked them over.   _“This conversation seems to be causing stress.”_

“Don’t worry, Baymax—the conversation’s over,” Hiro said, giving Obake one last dark look before going back to cleaning.

Dangit—plunk the jar down, forcing himself to stop grinding his teeth when that hurt—kick at a smaller ball that rolled under the bed.

Twitch—they had been all over this room last night, and he didn’t recall seeing his backpack anywhere…maybe Hiro had hid it under his bed.

Glance at Hiro, busy putting some toys in one of the lower drawers of the desk—get down on his hands and knees, gritting his teeth at the grinding pain in his kneecaps, flip the edge of the blanket up—

No backpack.

Huff in disappointment—dangit, he was waffling on this whole thing with Hiro anyway, but having his backpack would have been _nice_ , he thought.  Grab the ball, get ready to drop the blanket—

Looked back when he realized he registered movement under there.

It was something in a pile of fabric, way too small to be Mochi….Hesitate, hook a finger on the edge of the fabric and pull it out.  Blue…a hoodie, with something moving around in one of the pockets.  Snap his fingers at Hiro—short whistle when he didn’t respond.

_“What,_ Obake?” Hiro groaned, sagging with arms flopping to the side before turning to glare at him—expression shifting to confusion when he registered the hoodie, that confusion deepening when Obake pointed out the moving fabric.  Half-crawl over as the robot waddled across the room, tug the hoodie around, dig his hand in the pocket—

Pull out something small and black that immediately tried to craw out of Hiro’s hand when he opened it.

Obake blinked as Hiro caught it, pinched it between two fingers, held it up—squinting at the moving shape showed something vaguely familiar….

Like he had been holding a larger example not five minutes ago.

“This…it’s one of my microbots,” Hiro explained, seeming as much from a need to process what he was holding as a need to clue Obake in.  “I—it’s like Megabot but in miniature—I made it for the SFIT exposition but…they all got destroyed in the fire.  And the neurotransmitter that operates them—I don’t know why it would be moving.”

There were several things from that bit of rambling that Obake picked up—one, that there had been more of these things; two, that he might as well bin any plans on using said things (because they sounded like they could make some beautiful havoc) because they had all been destroyed in the fire at SFIT.

Three…that that might have very well been his fault.

Hiro’s shadows were back, fortunately distracting him from Obake’s own dour expressions—he didn’t know for _sure_ that his project backfiring tremendously had been the source of the fire, or if the fire in the exhibition hall had only compounded the issue.  Either way, it was all gone.

The marshmallow robot was blinking at them as Hiro collected a petri dish and sealed the microbot inside.   _“You both are experiencing: distress,”_  it said . _“Would you like to take a minute to address some of these emotions?”_

“No, Baymax,” Hiro sighed, shoving the petri dish away.  “Let’s just…not.”

Obake sighed, avoided looking at the robot as he picked up the hoodie and hung it up next to the tote bag—could have avoided this mess if they had gone bot-fighting.

He wondered how much work would be involved in reverse-engineering that microbot.

Go back to the desk with the intent of pocketing it—was surprised to see the marshmallow bot blinking at the petri dish.  Come around to look—

Consider it before turning the petri dish.

The microbot wavered—adjusted itself so it was rattling against the petri dish again, in the same direction it had been before.

The robot blinked, looked to Hiro.   _“Your: tiny robot, is trying to go somewhere.”_

Hiro gave an aggravated sigh as he shelved the Samus toy.  “It’s not trying to go anywhere, Baymax—everything else is gone, it has nothing to go to.”

No, no—the robot was right.  Snatch up the petri dish, pace over to Hiro, snapping his fingers to get his attention.

“What?” Hiro bit out.  “You know that’s _really_ annoying— _what?”_  Glare at the petri dish Obake was pointing at.

_“Your: tiny robot, is trying to go somewhere,”_ the robot repeated.

“What?  _No,_ it’s _broken,_ okay—ow!”

The robot blinked.   _“I was alerted to the need for—”_

“I’m _fine,_ Baymax,” Hiro said, glaring at Obake as he rubbed the side of his head—and he was, Obake hadn’t flicked him _that_ hard.  “Seriously, _what_ is your damage?”

The robot looked Obake up and down.  _“Obake: is suffering from—”_

“It’s an expression, Baymax,” Hiro sighed—went on the defensive when Obake reached to flick him upside the head again.  “No—no touchy.  What, I said no to bot-fighting so you fixate on this?” he asked, when Obake pointed at the microbot again.  “It’s broken—”

Okay, that’s enough—push on Hiro’s head to get him to look down, turn the petri dish several times.

The microbot, without fail, tried to go in the same direction every time.

“What the,” Hiro noised, taking the petri dish and repeating the action . “I don’t get it—there’s nothing it should be reacting to; why is it trying to…go somewhere.”

The robot blinked at them; looked at Hiro.   _“Would: learning the intended destination of the: microbot, improve your mood?”_

“I—”  Look up at Obake, back down at the microbot—gesture weakly with a hand.  “I don’t know, maybe—it shouldn’t be reacting to anything—maybe—I don’t know, maybe _something_ survived that—”

Something hope-shaped flickered in Hiro’s eyes then.

He looked up at them with conviction.  “Come on—we’re finding out where this thing wants to go.”

Well…it wasn’t bot-fighting….

But it was definitely a mystery worth investigating.

 

They assured Aunt Cass that the room was clean before heading out, Hiro shrugging on his hoodie before looking at the microbot—not tapping in the direction of SFIT, surprisingly.  But maybe…maybe…just _maybe_ ….

Look at Obake and Baymax, exchange nods, strike out in the direction the microbot indicated.

It wasn’t exactly fast—sometimes they had to go blocks in a different direction before they could continue forward, had to make concessions for Baymax where he couldn’t slip through a space or vault a fence; one time they were on a trolley for several blocks before the microbot changed directions, had to backtrack a little in order to go down the right street, follow a side alley—

Eventually into a district full of old warehouses.

“Oh…kay,” Hiro muttered, checking the microbot again—it was frantically trying to bust through the glass now.  “I…don’t know.”

Baymax blinked at the microbot, at the nearest warehouse—looked at Hiro.   _“We have found where your tiny robot wants to go.”_

“I was afraid of that,” Hiro said, following Obake over to the warehouse.  Why this place?  It didn’t make _sense_ —

No…it just didn’t make sense for the hope that had jumped on Hiro’s head.

It didn’t make sense anyway—if…if the reason the microbots had survived was because of Tadashi, he would have shown up, would have _been there_.  It was…kind of a stupid thought to begin with, now that he gave it some serious examination.

But that still left the burning question of _why_ his microbot was wanting into this warehouse.

Hiro grabbed the lock, rattled it experimentally….

“Locked,” he muttered, stepping back and looking the warehouse over.  Old, but not _that_ old—the boards looked like they’d resist any attempts at breaking them, and the windows might be open, but they were also pretty far above his head . Check the microbot again—

“It’s definitely this warehouse,” Hiro said.  “But how do we get in there?”

Obake held up a hand, stuffed the other into his hoodie pocket—

Hiro flinched back at the sharp _snickt_ sound, blinked at the blade Obake was holding.

“A switchblade?” he asked, leaning in as Obake grabbed the lock and shoved the blade into the keyhole.  Twist one way, then the other—

The lock fell open.

_“Nice,”_  Hiro said, deciding to gloss over the fact that Obake actually _owned_ a knife for now.  “Now—wait,” he said, holding out a hand as Obake pulled the lock off.  “If—if my microbots are _in there…_ they were supposed to have been destroyed by the fire—and if it’s not…we need to be careful.”

Obake nodded, tossed the lock aside—had his switchblade ready as he tugged the door open, keeping the bulk of the door between himself and the interior.  Hiro did the same on the other side—grabbed Baymax and yanked him away from the open door.

“ _There is no one inside,”_  Baymax announced.

Hiro took a double take at him.  “Really?”

_“There are no heat signatures consistent with a human being inside.”_

“Oh,” Hiro said.  “Okay, so we could have probably had the robot check….”  Look inside the dark warehouse.  “So who wants to go into the creepy abandoned warehouse first?”

Obake immediately pointed at Baymax.

“Nerves of steel,” Hiro teased, pulling the microbot back out and carefully treading inside—even with no one being in there, Baymax _was_ a machine, and machines _could_ be fooled—maybe sidestep the beam of light just in case—

Jumped a little when he bumped into Obake, who had apparently also had this thought.

“So,” Hiro tried.  “Come here often?”

Obake rolled his eye, stopped and looked around—Hiro looked down at the microbot again, squinted around as his eyes adjusted—

“There,” he said, pointing.  Head for the setup illuminated further within….

Taking increasingly more mincing steps as he did so, something about the place giving him the creeps—like the plastic tarps were hiding body parts instead of…of something else.  Coupled with the faint light, the subtle whirring…it was nerve-wracking.

“Okay,” Hiro hissed.  “For the record, if this is something scary, I’m running you over on the way out.”

Obake shoved at his shoulder in response.  Hiro grimaced at him, shuffled forward…gingerly reached his hand out, fingers questing along the opalescent tarp…found the blunted edge.  Deep breath, tug back—

Blink.  Blink again, mind not wanting to process this….

“My microbots?”

No—no these weren’t _his_ microbots—there were too many, for starters, filling at least fifty or sixty fifty-gallon drums.  And second of all, there was a conveyor belt, trundling out fresh microbots into yet another fifty-gallon drum, nearly overflowing with the little bots.  Mince to the first drum, dip his hands in, scoop out…let the familiar shapes run out like sand.

He looked at Obake, mind wanting to make sense of this but unable to fizzle together the pieces.  “What is this?”

Obake shrugged and gestured helplessly, looking over the setup, moving to the computer screen attached to the machine the conveyor belt led away from.

Hiro looked around again, eyes raking over everything, refusing to settle on any one thing, trying to piece this together—how—how—and better yet, _why_.

“How are these here,” he breathed finally, hands gripping the edge of the barrel.  “How did these get out of the fire—how is someone _mass-producing them?”_   Maybe that was an exaggeration—maybe a person could have made this many in a month—but how had they reverse-engineered his work?  “Someone—someone _stole_ my stuff—do you have a camera?” he asked, turning to Obake, now gingerly picking at the computer.  “A phone, or something—something that can take a picture?”

Obake looked up, shook his head—Hiro patted himself down, like he had somehow forgotten to pocket a phone he didn’t have on his way out the door—

Wait.

“Baymax!” Hiro hissed, turning to face the white robot.  “Can you record this?  Take pictures?  For evidence?”

_“I can: record videos, take pictures, and perform scans,”_  Baymax said, looking around, eyes clicking. Look up.   _“Hello.”_

Hiro spun, following the angle of Baymax’s head tilt—

The microbots surged to life, jumping out of the barrels—

_“RUN!”_  he yelped, bolting—Obake was off like a shot, both of them running for the open door—Hiro glanced behind— _“BAYMAX!”_

Baymax was waddling after them as fast as he could go—which was apparently his normal speed.

_“I am not fast,”_   he announced, as Hiro ran back to drag him forward, eyes constantly darting back to the sinister shimmering black tidal wave aiming for them—look forward—Obake had looked back, faltered when he realized Hiro wasn’t right behind him—

And then black surged in from either side, slamming the door shut.

Obake skidded to a halt—jumped on his toes—dashed back to Hiro, grabbed him by the arm, yanked him to the side—skid to a halt when the microbots moved to hem them in—all around them surging black—no escape, no—

There was a window.

_“Come on!”_  Hiro yelped, bolting for the rickety metal stairs groaning under the strain, microbots pinging against it like buckshot—haul Baymax up, shove him towards the window, Obake throwing his negligible weight into it—glance behind—

Hiro sucked in a thin gasp that sliced his trachea on the way down.

Because there—not fifty feet from them, partially illuminated by the dim skylight still high overhead, was…someone. Someone dressed all in black, with a porcelain white kabuki mask, red stripes and poisonous yellow eyes—and he just _knew_ they were fixated right on _him_.

The intake of breath next to him told Hiro he wasn’t the only one to see the man.

_“Run!”_  Obake yelped, redoubling his efforts on Baymax—mostly because there was no getting around him—Hiro threw his weight into helping him—microbots slammed upwards, taking out the scaffolding behind them—

And sending Baymax tumbling into the window, stuck in its rotating panes, inanely looking like a white Winnie the Pooh stuck in Rabbit’s hole.

Obake wasted no time in skittering over Baymax, through the thin opening—Hiro shoved on Baymax, glancing back at the guy in the kabuki mask rapidly advancing, sneakers slipping and treads shredding on the metal grating—

“Why do I always have to save your— _AAAAH!”_

Plastered against Baymax’s vinyl, seeing the mass of microbots surging for him, Hiro’s last thought was that maybe he should have followed Obake over.

And then suddenly slipping backwards as Baymax was dislodged—

Landing on Obake, sending them both slipping and tumbling—

Fortunately onto Baymax.

Unfortunately, Baymax was bouncy—Hiro landed hard on his tailbone, eyes rattling, brain trying to catch up—

Scramble upright, looking back, expecting the warehouse to burst apart in dark swirls, like Heartless had invaded—saw Obake rolling upright with a groan, Baymax sitting up, deflated from the impact—

Swirling blackness questing at the window.

“We gotta go,” Hiro said, hauling Baymax the rest of the way up and grabbing a hand.  “We gotta go _right now!”_

Obake looked—bounded upright, helped him haul on Baymax—Hiro had to redouble his efforts to keep up with the other kid’s longer legs, but panicked impetus gave his feet wings.

It was several blocks later, when they were doubled over and gasping for breath, glancing back the way they had come, Baymax scanning to make sure they weren’t followed—when Hiro finally had enough breath in him to ask the pertinent question.

“Now what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In other news, I honestly feel like Obake might actually like the Percy Jackson series, since he makes mention of Icarus in canon. And yes, I picture Obake as being a knife owner—I’ve discussed this over on DeviantArt, that I figure he’s more a knife person in the event of fisticuffs, but as you can see, he uses them for other things (please don’t try this at home).
> 
> Might up the posting schedule this month, depending on how well the juice flows on this...also, neglected to mention that I finally watched "Countdown to Catastrophe"—in a word, "AHAAUAAAGHWHYYYYY." *sob*


	9. Right Place, Wrong Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slipping, dodging, sneaking, creeping, hiding out down the street—  
> See my live shaking with everyone I meet.  
> Refried confusion is making itself clear—  
> Wonder which way do I go to get on out of here?
> 
> —"Right Place, Wrong Time" by Dr. John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9, everybody! Surprise—having a good run of writing for this fic, so we’re having a double update this week. :D
> 
> Big Hero 6 © 2014 Disney  
> Lilo + Stitch © 2002 Chris Sanders; Disney

Obake did not approve of going to the police.

“Well what do you propose we do!?” Hiro demanded, gesturing at the police building in front of them.  “I’m open to suggestions!”

Obake flexed his hands, glared away, like he wanted to come up with a better idea but couldn’t.

Not that his hesitation didn’t have merit, as it turned out.

“So let me get this straight,” the officer behind the counter said, looking like this was the third weird thing to cross his desk this week and he was a thousand percent done with it all.  “A man in a _kabuki mask_ attacked you with a bunch of… _tiny_ robots.”

“Microbots,” Hiro corrected, holding up the petri dish for him to see as Obake tried using the tape on the counter to patch up Baymax—his attempts to reinflate himself on the way over had alerted them to the fact that he had a _lot_ of holes in his vinyl.  “Like this—I made them, he has them—he’s mass-producing them!”

The officer blinked at him slowly—Hiro wondered if his coffee was strong enough.  _“Microbots,”_ he corrected finally, typing something out on the police report.  “Did you file a report when your _microbots_ were stolen?”

“No—I thought they were lost in the fire—there was a fire—at SFIT—”

“Ah,” the officer noised—of course he would have heard about that.  Look back at him.  “And were you the only one who saw this guy?”

“No—Baymax was there—so was Obake—”  Run around, grab Obake, drag him forward, despite him digging his heels in—Obake suddenly became very interested in the ceiling.

The officer looked him over, like he thought Obake was familiar but couldn’t place it—glanced at Baymax.  “And are either one of them volunteering any information for this report?”

Hiro elbowed Obake on the side nearest him, the left—Obake crumpled a little around the impact, glared at him—crossed his arms and looked away.  Right.

“Obake doesn’t talk,” Hiro said, glaring at him before looking at Baymax.  “But Baymax took pictures—right Baymax?”

_“That is correct,”_   Baymax said, stepping forward . _“Officer, Hiro is telling the truuUUUuth—”_

Hiro and Obake stared at him.  “Er, what?  Are you okay?”

_“Low bAt **tery** ,”_  Baymax slurred, slouching—and very nearly flattening Obake when he fell on the skinny boy.

Hiro glanced at the officer.  “Uh—”

The officer shrugged, reached for a clipboard.  “Look, kid, why don’t we just _call_ your folks—”  Stopped, head jerking slightly—Hiro noticed his attention on a board behind the desk, more than a few posters on it—

Obake noticed too, grabbed Hiro, shoved Baymax onto him partially, led the charge in hauling him out the door.

“Hey!” the officer barked.  “Hey wait a minute—"

“Okay,” Hiro said, once they were down the street, him and Obake on either side of Baymax and struggling to keep him heading in a straight line.  “So that didn’t go as well as I hoped.”

Obake’s expression very clearly said _well DUH_.

“Hey, it’s not _my_ fault,” Hiro countered—or maybe it was; it wasn’t like _everyone_ hadn’t gotten mugshots the night he got busted for bot-fighting.  His face was probably up on that wall under _juvenile delinquents, don’t listen to them when they talk about weird guys wanting to kill them._

That made him stumble worse than Baymax’s drunken weaving—that guy had legitimately tried to kill him and Obake.  No saying anything, no _hey you kids what are you doing here_ —Hiro wasn’t sure what his intentions were when/if he caught them, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t anything positive.

He glanced around, suddenly wildly nervous—they needed to get out of the open, preferably with some good distance between them and the warehouse district—and with Baymax useless between them—

They had to get home.

 

The hardest part about getting home—and then inside—was Baymax, honestly.

The entire nerve-wracking time, braced for an attack, listening for the telltale skittling noise of the microbots—Hiro had spent the entire time mentally berating Tadashi for whatever sleep-deprived collegiate idiocy prompted him to put _this_ in Baymax’s programming.  It was like trying to wrangle a drunkard, except Hiro was pretty certain a drunk person would be easier to maneuver.  The three back steps were a trial all their own, and by this point Hiro was plotting a séance to drum Tadashi up for the sole point of expressing just how much of an absolute mess this coding was, _you and I are about to have some words, big bro._

Said words would probably be in duplicate, considering Baymax fell on Obake once they were in the door.

“Are you okay?” Hiro asked, wincing.

_“AIIIIII wiLL SCAaaan you now,”_ Baymax volunteered, flopping an arm.

“Hiro?” Aunt Cass called.

Hiro winced again, waved at Obake as he edged around.  “Just—I’ll distract Aunt Cass, you get Baymax up to his charger.”

Obake made a distressed noise, waved his arm around—Hiro dodged, ran into the kitchen.  “Oh, hey, Aunt Cass!  How’s—how’s everything?”

Aunt Cass looked a little bemused.  “I’m fine—what was that noise?”

“Uh—that was…Mochi!  Oh yeah—that darn cat.”

“Mrow.”

Hiro winced, glanced down at Mochi winding around his legs—dangit Mochi, you’re ruining the scheme here—toss him up the stairs when Aunt Cass wasn’t looking, busy with some dish.

“Okay,” Aunt Cass said.  “So I’m trying a new kimchi dish I was inspired yesterday—got some dumplings and your favorite hot wings going too, so I hope you boys are hungry!”

“Starving,” Hiro said, following her into the kitchen and hedging so she couldn’t get by him—had to distract her for like, two minutes—“So I-I was thinking—that _maybe_ I should be help-HELPING!”  Dodge around, raise his voice to cover Baymax’s drunken slurring.  “Helping you in the kitchen more!  Y-you know, sort of a…family bonding…thing.”

That—apparently succeeded in confusing Aunt Cass.  “Are you okay?”

“Yeah—YEAH!  Yeah of course I’m fine—the uh, well you know, growing up fast, all that—gonna—gonna be going to college soon, so…yeah.”

Aunt Cass blinked.  “You mean it?  You’re going to SFIT?  I mean, I know you wanted to, but then you kind of….”

Lost interest in the place where his brother had died?  Oh goodness yes.  “W-well, yeah, but—y-you know, get back on the horse, or whatever, going to college might help with those…pubescent mood swings….”

Aunt Cass smiled, but it was the sad sort of smile—pushed his bangs back.  “Are you okay though?  You look…well, you look kind of upset.”

That generally followed almost being killed.

And then before that—that stupid fleeting moment where he thought that Tadashi had used the microbots somehow to survive the fire.

Except that—whoever it was—there was no way they were Tadashi.  Tadashi would have said something, would have let him know he was all right—

Tadashi wouldn’t have tried to _kill_ him.

“It’s—it’s nothing,” he said, glancing away and rubbing an arm.

Aunt Cass put her hands on his shoulders.  “Listen—you don’t have to make any decisions right now, okay?  You can…you can give it another month, before you…because, you know, it doesn’t start up again until September….”

Because of all the repairs they were having to make.  “Y-yeah…it’s just….”

She hugged him.  “I know.”

He hugged her back, savoring her warmth, her comfort—no, she didn’t know, not really—didn’t know about the fresh cut he just had, where Tadashi was almost alive again—he missed his brother with every fiber of his being, and nothing was going to change that.

Something bumped upstairs.

“Is that Mochi again?” Aunt Cass asked.

“Probably,” Hiro said, hugging her tight before letting go—Obake and Baymax were probably upstairs by now.  “I’m…going to go wash up.”

“Okay,” she said, ruffling his hair.  “Tell Obake to too—dinner should be ready soon and _ohgoshI’mburningthedumplings—”_

Hiro laughed, turned to head upstairs—

Glanced back—waited until her hands weren’t full before tackling her.  “Last hug.”

So life had just taken a majorly insane turn—but at least Aunt Cass was still a constant.

Now it was a question of for how long.

 

Obake was grousing and cursing whoever was responsible for the marshmallow robot and his drunken programming, had the sneaking suspicion it was the dead brother.

He had a _lot_ of words planned for said brother, not the least from:

Getting squashed by the robot multiple times.

Trying to herd said robot up the steps.

Trying to keep said robot quiet.

Trying to do all this without breaking his neck.

And now trying to get the robot to step into the charger, all with him leaning heavily on Obake.  And at this point, Obake suspected the robot was missing the charger on purpose.  Grunt as he tried to reorient the robot again—

Blink in surprise when the robot was suddenly squished against him and shuffled into the charger.  Look—

Hiro peered around the other side of the robot.

“So Aunt Cass has dinner cooking,” Hiro said, gingerly backing away from the robot before letting go—Obake did too, watched the robot slouch a little before straightening up, hiccupping, and slouching again.

“I mean I _think_ he’s charging,” Hiro fretted.

_“Hairy baby,”_   Baymax said, pointing at the cat.

Hiro sighed, turned away—pulled the petri dish containing the microbot out of his pocket.

“I don’t get it,” he said, watching the microbot tap away at the container.  “Who was that?  Why did they want to kill us?  Why my microbots?”  Pace away, gesturing.  “What kind of creepy guy would need to mass-produce them in—in a _warehouse_ after s-stealing—”  Slam to a halt.

“S…stealing my microbots,” Hiro breathed, slowly looking at him.  “That guy—he _stole_ my microbots—I bet you _anything_ he started that fire!”

Now it was Obake’s turn to feel like he’d been struck.  If that guy—if that guy had started the SFIT fire—

Then it meant that his own project hadn’t malfunctioned.

It meant that his work was sound.

_It meant that it wasn’t his fault._

Hiro was pacing again.  “If that guy—he started the fire to cover his tracks—”  Glance at the partition.  “We’ve got to do something—ugh, but _what?_   The police didn’t believe us—what?” he asked, looking over at Obake’s finger-snapping.

In response, Obake grabbed a notepad off the desk, dashed off a quick message:

_We take care of him._

Hiro read it, tossed the notepad back onto the desk.  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but _we_ aren’t exactly fit to take him on.  I’m small, and you’re…well, let’s be real here, I think we know each other well enough for me to tell you that one good sneeze would probably break you.”

_“A: sneeze, would most likely aggravate Obake’s ribs at least,”_   the robot put in.

“Good to hear you back, Baymax.”

Obake groused, hating that he couldn’t exactly deny that Hiro had a point—hit on an idea.  Open the drawer from earlier—haul Megabot out and plop him on the notepad.

Hiro considered the battlebot for a moment before shaking his head.

“No, Megabot’s no match for all those microbots,” Hiro muttered, pacing away, hands tucked under his arms.  “We’d need something bigger, something that could hit harder….”

Obake looked over at Hiro’s trailing off—saw him looking the marshmallow robot up and down.

“…Something with all the groundwork already in place,” Hiro said slowly, sounding like an epiphany was striking.  “Baymax, what do you say to an upgrade?”

An upgrade?  The marshmallow bot to a battlebot?

Baymax blinked, looked at them both before settling on Hiro.  _“Would: apprehending the man in the kabuki mask, improve your mood?”_

Hiro looked at the partition again, looked at Obake, something strange in his eyes—

It hit him then—the brother, the dead brother—he must have died in the SFIT fire.

The fire that the microbot thief started.

The fire that had ruined both their lives.

This was it—this was how he’d get Hiro.

Because revenge was a _powerful_ motivator.

He nodded, knowing his grin was savage but having a hard time editing it—but Hiro was grinning too, not in the _hunting for blood_ way, but he was sure he could change that.

“Yes,” Hiro said, looking back at Baymax.  “Yes it would.”

Baymax blinked.  “ _Then I will assist.”_

_“Excellent._   Let’s get started.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In other news—BlackKittens’ fic _Changes in the Wind: Big Hero 7 The Series_ here on AO3 brings up an important point on how the timeline of the movie and the timeline of the series don’t quite line up. So, the timeline for this fic has the expo taking place in the spring with the events of the fic taking place late June/early July. Feels like an important point to mention here.
> 
> And here’s a good question: with Obake and Hiro’s timelines smashed together, who exactly is responsible for the explosion?


	10. My Bot Knows What You Did In The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be careful making wishes in the dark  
> Can't be sure when they've hit their mark  
> And besides in the meantime I'm just dreaming of tearing you apart....
> 
> —"My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark (Light 'Em Up)" by Fall Out Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10, everybody! Time to lock and load….
> 
> Big Hero 6 © 2014 Disney  
> Lilo + Stitch © 2002 Chris Sanders; Disney  
> Meet the Robinsons © 2007 Disney (“Now that is an excellent question”)  
> Darkwing Duck © 1991 Tad Stones; Disney (“Let’s get dangerous”)

It was a tiny bit frustrating having to put their mad designing on hold for dinner—Hiro finally convinced Aunt Cass to let them eat upstairs, they had this really awesome idea and _you can’t just stop in the middle of a really awesome idea then it escapes and you never get it back and you know how that is._

Aunt Cass finally relented, looking bemused as she put two plates down on the floor next to them.

“So what is this really awesome idea?” she asked, looking around at the papers scattered everywhere.

“Still in the planning stages,” Hiro evaded, shooing Mochi away from the plates.  “Gotta get it all copied down before it gets away.”

She shrugged, scooped up Mochi and went back downstairs—Hiro had a quick moment of silence and popped a dumpling in his mouth before getting back to work.

“So,” he said, in response to Obake writing down _tell me about the microbots._ “They’re pretty straightforward—they’re all controlled by this neurotransmitter—”  Aha.  “And I bet you that it’s behind that kabuki mask!  So we get the mask, the guy loses control over the microbots— _game over.”_

Obake nodded, wrote a new line: _so how do WE get the mask?_

“Now that—is an excellent question.”

Which was how they spent the rest of the evening—they had one goal: get the mask.  There were a ton of microbots that could stop them in a million ways between them and that goal.  Hiro had made the microbots with the intent that they wouldn’t be easily stopped.

It was aggravating, really, when your genius was turned against you.

Aunt Cass finally came up and ordered them to _pick this mess up_ and get into bed, despite Hiro’s protests, _it’s ONE O’ CLOCK, get to bed!_   Made sure they were _in_ bed before tucking them in, giving Hiro a kiss, watching from the stairs for a moment before going back down.

Hiro waited, giving Aunt Cass enough time to get in the bathroom and then in her own bed…sat up and threw his pillow at Obake.  Jump out of bed, dig in one of the nearby drawers, slip back over the bed to the other side, where Obake had the plans laid back out.

“Okay,” Hiro said, tugging the blanket over them to hide their shapes better before clicking the flashlight on.  “Where were we?”

Obake immediately scribbled in his design plan.

“No,” Hiro said, just as quickly scribbling it out.  “No spikes, I have _one_ 3D printer and we’re trying to hurry back over there and catch this guy, so quick and dirty design.  We can have spikes in version 2.0.”

Obake huffed, scribbled down a few other ideas for Hiro to run with—had to frequently remind himself that they needed to have a design that could be machined up quickly—Mr. Kabuki Mask knew he was discovered, they needed to nail him fast before he scurried off.  Ignore Baymax when he told them just how late it was—right now he was a boy on a mission.  They both were, if Obake’s own intenseness was anything to go by.

That guy would never know what hit him.

 

Cass checked her watch, put her bookmark in her book…frowned at the ceiling.  Sure, the boys were _probably_ in bed…but she knew that look Hiro had had—he was on a tear about something and wouldn’t stop until it petered out.  It was something he and Tadashi both did, and it was nice that he was getting some…some energy back…but at the same time….

She sighed, apologized to Mochi as she crawled out of bed, snuck up the stairs to peek in…saw a flashlight light on the other side of Hiro’s bed.

_“Hello,”_ Baymax greeted as Cass turned the lights on.  _“Hiro and Obake are: asleep.”_

“Is this a recent development, or are they just pretending?” she asked, walking over to check—blanket from Hiro’s bed draped over to act as a makeshift tent…and both boys were conked out over what looked like robot designs, all sorts of notations scribbled everywhere.

_“This was a: recent development,”_   Baymax said, as Cass got some pillows.  Tuck one under Hiro’s head, was treated to him mumbling _just visualizing internally_ ; pull the flashlight out of his grasp and turn it off, setting it aside.  Tuck the other pillow under Obake’s head, didn’t get much in the way of noise from him.  Hesitate…put a hand on his chest, wait for it to rise and fall.  Okay, that was good…he had been through a lot, according to Baymax.

They all had.

Tug the blanket down, tuck it around the boys…ruffle their hair one last time before heading back down to her own bed.  “Good night, Baymax.”

_“Good night, Aunt Cass.”_

 

Hiro woke up to a pillow under his head, which was an improvement over drooling on their plans.

The bad news: the light filtering in meant it was morning—specifically, Sunday morning, when Aunt Cass didn’t have the café open and would be more inclined to sleep in and let them do so as well.

Hiro shoved up, shook Obake awake.  “Wake up, we’ve got work to do!”

Obake groused, rolled upright, one eye blinking blearily—

Scrambled the rest of the way up as he too recalled what it was they were doing.

Hiro sped through personal hygiene, told Obake to hurry up with his as he scooped up the notations from last night, told him he’d be in the garage, _come on, Baymax_ —

Was temporarily detained by Aunt Cass.

“Sorry Aunt Cass, we’re—” he started.

“I know, I know, on a roll with something, food to go,” she said, handing Baymax a plate with breakfast rolls and a couple of single-serve bottles of milk.  “Make sure they eat, okay?  Make sure you eat something, your brain won’t work on an empty stomach.”

_“Regular meals assist with cognitive brain functions, as well as improving one’s mood,”_   Baymax agreed.

“Uh…sure.  We might be going for a walk later too—pretty sure that helps with everything,” Hiro said, feeling for the garage door—might as well set up an excuse for bad-guy-hunting later.

_“Exercise has many health benefits, in addition to improving one’s mental function.”_

Aunt Cass gave Hiro one of those _looks_.  “Is there something you ought to be telling me?”

_“Yes,”_   Baymax said—

“YES!” Hiro interjected, putting himself bodily between Baymax and Aunt Cass.  “Um…I love you, Aunt Cass.”

Probably the right thing to say, considering the _aw_ and the hug.  “I love you too,” she said, letting go to look at him.  “Just don’t work yourself to death, okay?”

Hiro winced at the wording.  “Um, sure.”

“Okay—last hug.”

_“Aunt Cass.”_

 

Obake was in the garage shortly afterwards—Hiro put on some Fall Out Boy and turned up the volume a little to be heard over the sound of Aunt Cass vacuuming.

“Okay,” Hiro said, shoving away from the little boom box as the first strands of music started.  “Next up is coding a fighting chip for Baymax and programming the 3D printer—who wants to do what?”

They ended up flipping for it—Hiro reminded Obake that they didn’t have time for spikes as he pointed the printer and nearby computer out.

In the meantime—crack his knuckles, pop in a fresh chip, download a bunch of karate movies and use motion tracker to upload the different moves.  Moment of silence and munch on a breakfast roll when Baymax insisted—scowl when he realized it had the liver and spinach sausage in it.  Oh _come on_.

“This one is yours,” Hiro said, depositing the breakfast roll next to Obake, who scowled at it—probably because it had a bite missing.  “How’re we doing?”

Obake indicated the first piece he had pulled out.  _“Excellent,”_ Hiro said, grabbing it and taking it to the sander.  “Keep ‘em coming.”

That took most of the afternoon, and saw them sometimes swapping jobs or checking in on the fighting chip—Obake was actually really good at smoothing out any kinks in the programming, as it turned out, and the only break they took was Aunt Cass depositing some lemonade and _onigiri_ on a nearby table.

“Okay, so we should be close,” Hiro said, running to get the next piece out of the printer.

“ _Hiro,”_ Baymax said.  _“It has been several days since you requested a reminder for—”_

“Yeah yeah Baymax whatever,” Hiro said, pausing to poke him in the belly.  “Think we’re finally ready to do something about _this.”_

Baymax actually seemed confused about that, considering the next time Hiro glanced at him he was poking where Hiro had.  Oh well.  Finish up the last piece, glance at Obake—got a thumbs up.

Hiro grinned, hefted the first piece.  “Baymax?  Let’s get dangerous.”

 

So as it turns out, stuffing a marshmallow into armor was a bit more harrowing than first implied.

But finally— _finally_ —the fruits of their labor was standing before them.

_“I have concerns,”_   Baymax said, looking down at himself.  _“This may undermine my nonthreatening and huggable appearance.”_

“That’s the idea, buddy,” Hiro said, batting away the note Obake had written about _I told you about the spikes_.  “I told you, spikes are version 2.0.  Is the chip ready?”

Obake held up a chip with a skull and crossbones sketched on it—perfect.  Take it, walk up to Baymax, tap on his chip bay—

Hesitate at the sight of the green one.

Tadashi’s chip, the heart of Baymax—the last thing Tadashi had left him.

_This is for you, big brother,_ he thought, swallowing hard before plugging in the red chip and pushing it in.

Baymax blinked, processing the new information.  _“New data packet received.  Extracting information….”_   Look at Hiro.  _“I fail to see how information on: fighting, improves my performance as a health-care companion.”_

“You want to keep us _healthy,_ don’t you?” Hiro asked, shrugging before holding out a board.  “Now punch this.”

What followed was similar to two nights ago, where they set up increasingly elaborate combinations for Baymax to attack, going through as many of his new fight moves as possible—while breaking for some gummi bears, ostensibly to check his control.  The sugar was a bonus.

Definitely added some extra bounce to his cheering when Obake looked up from his list and gave him a thumbs-up.  “YES! FIST BUMP!”

Baymax looked at the proffered fist.  _“Fist bump: is not in my fighting database.”_

“Uh, no—it’s…a thing you do. When you’re excited.”  Show him how to do it, blow it up at the end—couldn’t help the snort at Baymax’s _ba-la-la-la_ , his attempt at copying the explosion noise.

“You too,” he said, bouncing over to Obake and socking him in the arm before holding his fist up again.  “Should be easy, right?  You _just_ saw Baymax do it.”

Obake made a face at him, considered…finally humored him.

“ _Yes,”_ Hiro hissed, unable to keep the spring from his step.  “So we’re ready?”

He dug out the petri dish when Obake nodded and tossed the clipboard away.  Check it—still resolutely tapping against the glass, trying to get somewhere.

He was grinning when he looked up at the boy and the bot sharing the garage.

“Let’s get this guy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this a little late in the day (or stinking-early in the morning), but I’ve spent the past three days marathoning a really good Harry Potter fanfiction—it’s called “Realizations,” it’s by Wishweaver over on FFN, and while it’s unfinished and hasn’t been updated since 2010, it stops in a real comfy place so it’s a worthwhile investment. :)
> 
> Also in retrospect I recall that Hiro did about 100% of this on the computer, but these two plotting over notes was too much fun writing to pass up. :D Onigiri, for those who might not know, are rice balls—or jelly donuts, if you’re a ‘90s 4kids dub. *bricked*
> 
> Onigiri is also recognized by Microsoft Word how….Also, was in the store yesterday and during the checkout line, it occurred to me that Hiro asking for gummi bears might have stemmed from just how many other candies may or may not contain peanuts—which Hiro is allergic to.


	11. Some Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"This is it boys, this is war--  
>  What are we waiting for?  
> Why don't we break the rules already?  
> I was never one to believe the hype--  
> Save that for the black and white try twice as hard and I'm half as liked  
> Well, here they come again, to jack my style...."_  
> \--"Some Nights" by Fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11, everybody! Let’s see how round 1 turned out….
> 
> Big Hero 6 © 2014 Disney

The streets were dark, slick, and foggy as they ran through the night, back to the warehouses.

Hiro’s breath was hitching, and occasionally he had to pause for both himself and Obake, wheezing harder.  Baymax suggested stopping, or taking a more sedate pace—they waved him off each time.  They’d lost enough time getting ready for the confrontation, now they had a bad guy to nail.

It was frustrating, trying to navigate the same path at night—they’d occasionally have silent arguments over which direction they needed to go, frequently fell onto Baymax to tell them how they had gone before—

Hiro’s heart was thrumming in his chest when he once again beheld the warehouse, dimly lit by distant street lights.  Try to focus on his breathing, glance at Obake—

Obake had that look, the one he had during bot-fighting—nodded sternly, strode across the open concrete, light cool breeze making the overgrown weeds surrush.  Hiro gulped, flexed his hands—sweaty palms—looked at Baymax.

“Come on, Baymax,” he said, jerking his head—ran after Obake, breath catching in his throat—the slap of his sneakers on the wet concrete sounded _so loud_ , drowned out the distant city noises—

Skid to a halt, nod at Obake before pointing the door out to Baymax.  “Break it.”

Baymax blinked at him.   _“That would be: destruction of property.  Also: unnecessary, as the door is unlocked.”_

Hiro couldn’t help the look he exchanged with Obake, flopping his arm down as he did so.  “ _Fine,_ just ignore the whole dramatic entrance—get ready, Baymax,” he ordered instead—grabbed the one handle, motioned for Obake to grab the other—three two one _yank—_

“ _Get him Baymax!”_

Baymax assumed a battle pose—

Slipped out of it a moment later.   _“There is no one here.”_

“What?”  Peek around the door—

Gone.

Everything was gone, no tarp no barrels no setup—it was like nothing had ever happened here.

No no no they had made a mistake or something he couldn’t be _gone_ —they had taken too long, that had to be it—took too long and gave the guy plenty of time to get away.

“Th-this _is_ the right place, isn’t it?” Hiro asked, digging in his pockets for the petri dish.

_“It is,”_  Baymax said—Hiro yanked the petri dish out, looked—

_“Your tiny robot is trying to go somewhere,”_  Baymax announced, as they watched the microbot rattle against the glass.

“Right,” Hiro said, sagging in relief before looking around—wave for them to follow.  “Let’s go.”

The knowledge that the microbot thief was on the run increased his speed and decreased his hesitance—this guy was on the move now, they had to run him down, before he got away, before—

_Hggkh!_

Hiro panicked at being yanked back by his hoodie, spun around as he was lifted bodily off the ground—

Realized that Baymax had pulled him away from the edge of the pier he had almost run straight off of, so intent as he was on the microbot.

_“It is unadvised to go swimming for: one hour, after eating,”_   Baymax said, planting Hiro on the dock next to him before putting Obake down.  Obake, for his part, looked like he was nursing a stitch in his side.

“Sorry,” Hiro said, looking back at the microbot.  Rattling so hard he could hear it over the waves in the bay—look in the direction it was aiming for…out over the water.

“What could be out there?” he wondered—sure he had designed his microbots to be waterproof too, but—

The microbot yanked out of his hand, shooting away into the fog.

_“Hey!”_  Hiro yelped—Obake caught him when he tried to snatch it back, already way past too late—

Squinted at a shape moving in the blackness of the bay, no lights to discern anything in the fog—

Oh no.

Didn’t need much incentive to start running, didn’t even need Obake tugging on his arm—did hit the brakes and run back to tug Baymax along—the armor increased his speed, but Baymax was still going like this was a Sunday stroll—Obake tugged, he pushed, got Baymax behind a shipping container—peeked back out to see—

The man in the kabuki mask, held aloft by the microbots, surging out of the bay and onto the docks—the man looked back, gestured—lame, his neurotransmitter didn’t need—

Blink when the microbots hauled something else out of the bay—a huge chunk of curving metal, looking like part of something bigger, with a red decal on the side, a stylized bird in a circle.  What—what could that even—

Jump when Obake tapped on his arm—shook his head, turned to Baymax.  “Get ready Baymax—we’re going to take that guy down—”

Jump back against the container when they were suddenly bathed in blinding white light, Obake grabbing his shoulders—no—nonononono they were caught they were sunk they were dead they were—

“Hiro?”

Okay, this might actually be worse.

“What?” he gasped, when he realized what he was looking at—when he realized it was a car that Tadashi’s friends were piling out of “No no no what are you guys _doing_ here?”

“Baymax called?” Gogo said, like she dearly wanted to comment that it was obvious and _what is this even._

“Wait what?”

_“You requested a reminder,”_  Baymax said.   _“Connecting with: friends, and loved ones—”_

Oh crud.  “Uh, yeah—just—let’s do that later, you guys need to get out of here—"

“Hiro, no, don’t push us away,” Honey Lemon said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, man!” Fred agreed.  “Let it out!”

“Starting with _what are we doing out here in the middle of the night?”_  Wasabi asked, gesturing at their surroundings.

“And _why is Baymax wearing carbon-fiber underpants?”_ Gogo added.

_“I also know karate,”_   Baymax offered.

“Great.  Now I have more questions.”

“Can we not have them _here,_ please?” Hiro begged, glancing at Obake, peeking around the container.  “Because there was kind of this thing—”

Honey Lemon and Wasabi exchanged glances.  “Hiro,” she said slowly.  “What, exactly, are you doing out here?”

“And who is this?” Gogo added, when Obake ran over to Hiro and started shoving him away.

“Oh right, intro,” Fred said, stopping them.  “This is Obake—he’s cool.  Don’t give him volleyballs.”

“I knew he ran into Fred,” Wasabi muttered, shaking his head.

“Uh!” Hiro managed.  “Can we just—"

_“Group conversation is an excellent therapy technique,”_   Baymax continued.  “ _Would anyone like to start the sharing process?”_

“Ooh me!” Fred said, raising his hand.  “My name is Fred, and it has been thirty days since my last— _HOLY MOTHER OF MEGAZON!”_

Which was about when Hiro realized just _why_ Obake had been trying to dislodge him: the man in the kabuki mask had discovered them.

“Uh, is anyone else seeing this?” Fred asked.

Idly, he had to give this guy some drama credit—lifting the container they were hiding behind certainly made an impression— _stop focusing on that this guy wants to kill you get Baymax after him—_

Wince at a flash—

Realized that Honey Lemon had her phone out.

The man in the kabuki mask realized this too—slammed the container down at them—

Hiro was curled up into a ball, eyes closed—realized he wasn’t dead thanks to Wasabi screaming and the fact that he still smelled seawater.  Mostly the latter, it wouldn’t have surprised him to know they were standing outside the Pearly Gates with Wasabi still screaming…wait, did you get a transition period where you were alerted, or was it just _wham, hi there?_

Better yet: _how were they not dead?_

Open his eyes, look—

Baymax had stopped the container, heaved it away.   _“Is everyone unharmed?”_

Yes, but that would change if they didn’t do something.   _“Get him, Baymax!”_

“Better idea: _run!”_  Gogo yelled, sprinting away—something that Obake agreed with, considering Hiro found himself being hauled away by the skinny kid.  Manage to get some traction under him—Obake yanked the passenger-side door on Wasabi’s car open, flung Hiro in, dove in after him as the others piled in.

“Okay, please start now,” Wasabi hissed under his breath, singsong and panicky as he glanced out the windshield.

“Who is this guy?” Gogo asked.

“ _I don’t care enough to stay and find out, how’s that!?”_

“Ugh—stop!” Hiro said, trying to avoid getting jabbed by the seat belt buckle.  “And will you guys _chill?_  Baymax can _handle_ that guy—”

Which was about when they heard a hard impact—looked—

Flinched as one as Baymax hit the top of Wasabi’s car, hard enough to dent it.  Look—

The man in the kabuki mask was advancing on a wall of microbots.

“Uh…yeah no buh-bye,” Wasabi said, throwing the car into reverse.

Hiro caught himself on the front dash, was pulled back into the seat and finally buckled in by Obake, who proceeded to hang on for dear life—Hiro had a perfect view of the wave of microbots surging for them, right until one strand arrowed for them—

Baymax struck back, the force spinning the car around—Wasabi shifted to drive, gears grinding, and took off.

_“Someone_ explain this _now!”_   Gogo demanded.  “Who is this guy, why does he have your microbots, Hiro?”

Fred was the one to answer.  “Black coat, mask—we’re totally dealing with a supervillain, people!  This is _so cool!_  I mean, totally dangerous considering he’s trying to kill us, _but SO COOL!”_

“We don’t _know_ that he’s trying to kill us,” Honey Lemon tried.

“Yeah!” Wasabi said, sounding a shade below hysteria.  “This could all be a wild misunderstand—”

_“CAR!”_   Fred yelped—Hiro twisted in his seat—heard Baymax go _oh no—_

A car crashed right behind them, just narrowly missing the back bumper.

_“He’s trying to kill us!”_   Honey Lemon shrieked.

“ _Why is he trying to kill us!?”_  Wasabi asked, firmly in hysteria now.

“Classic supervillain behavior!” Fred put in.  “We’ve seen too much!”

“Pretty sure Baymax could handle that guy!” Hiro put in—ugh, this evening had gone sideways _way_ too quickly—

Wasabi looked in the rearview mirror.  “Uh yeah, I don’t think so— _hogeez!”_

Hiro’s hands hit the dash again, considering there were two kids squashed into one seat and that left him with a seatbelt across his waist instead of his chest—wait, why did they stop _there was a maniac after them!_

Gogo shared this opinion.   _“WHY are we stopped!?”_

_“The light’s red!”_   Wasabi protested.

_“THERE ARE NO.  RED LIGHTS. **IN A CAR CHASE!!!”**_

The light turned green, Wasabi took off—with a much more abbreviated lead—dodge another car thrown at them—

“Did you just turn on your _blinker?”_  Gogo demanded.

“ _You have to signal when you change lanes!”_   Wasabi told her—Hiro had the impression he was clinging to driving safety to keep from falling all the way into total white-out hysteria.  “ _It’s the law!”_

Gogo looked done enough to stop the car and take on Mr. Kabuki-Mask by herself.  “That’s.   _IT.”_

The next thing Hiro knew, Gogo had shoved Wasabi’s seat back, was sitting in his lap, gum stuck to his dash, hands on the wheel—

And then they were going _much_ much faster than he had previously thought possible.

Hiro was grateful for the seatbelt now, could understand and was currently imitating Obake’s _holding on for dear life_ pose—Gogo was taking turns hard enough to send Fred plastering against the window, surging forward with a roar of engine and squeal of tire, cutting sharp turns down alleys and sailing over the tops of hills like the brakes were just a suggestion who needs them—

And still the villain pursued them.

Gogo glanced in the rearview mirror, saw this—stood on the gas more than she had been—

Hiro had a moment to panic along with the rest of them when they realized she planned to jump the tracks with a train on its way—

The microbots ripped the side door off before being blasted to smithereens by the train.

Obake yelped at having the side of the car suddenly vanish—grabbed at the passenger handle on the rollbar—Hiro nearly crawled into the backseat—

Now had a perfect view of the man in the kabuki mask, keeping pace with them on the other side of the tracks, just _waiting_ for a chance to get past the train—

Gogo swung a hard left, away from the train tracks—Hiro twisted around to see the man use the microbots to surge up and over the framework surrounding the tracks—

One of the rear wheels suddenly blew.

Everyone was shrieking and holding on for dear life as Gogo struggled to hold it steady—was suddenly caught up in a stream of microbots, surging into a tunnel of blackness with only a dim light at the end as their hope—

“We’re not gonna make it,” Wasabi squeaked as Gogo pushed the car to its limit and past.

“We’re gonna make it,” Honey Lemon insisted, focused as they all were on the end—mostly because looking to the sides, at the microbots surging and clattering like a living thing, was too terrifying.

“We’re not gonna make it.”

“We’re gonna make it!”

_“We’re not gonna make it!”_

The end of the tunnel closed—

And then suddenly they were bursting out of it, car landing hard enough on the ground that Hiro heard something break beneath them—

And then they were skidding sideways, Gogo on the brake and turning hard—Hiro had a grand view of the tide of microbots out the passenger side—

And then the car was airborne again—

And then they were hitting the water hard.

He covered his mouth and nose against his panic, trying to seal the air in—had a good view of the man in the kabuki mask watching them sink for a moment before he slithered away, form fading the further they sank—felt hands scrabbling at the seat belt, lifted his arms as he looked down—tried the seatbelt himself when Obake’s hands slipped again—stuck—

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention—Baymax’s armor, drifting down—

And then Baymax was cutting them free of the seat belts, small laser slicing through, hugging them all close before inflating and floating up—Hiro hung on tight, one hand still focused with keeping the precious life-giving air in his lungs…but it was burning now…he had to inhale soon—

They broke the surface—he wasn’t the only one who sucked in a desperate gulp of air—bobbed there, hanging onto Baymax for dear life.  A few more gasps, getting oxygen back to his lungs, brain, body—look—

The man in the kabuki mask was gone.

Honey Lemon slipped, hauled herself up to point at Wasabi.  “I _TOLD you_ we’d make it!”

Wasabi had other concerns.  “My car….”

“Your insurance will cover that, right?” Gogo asked.

“My insurance _thank you for mentioning the one thing that makes this night worse do you know what this’ll do to my premium!?”_

_“Your body temperatures are: low,”_  Baymax announced, alerting Hiro to the fact that his shaking wasn’t just from leftover adrenaline burning off.  _“And I will need to tend to your injuries.”_

Everyone looked at each other—looked at the docks—back at each other like Baymax was somehow the safe spot in a game of tag.

“What if that guy comes back?” Honey Lemon asked, voicing everyone’s concern.

Fred, surprisingly, was the one to gain a determined expression

“I know a place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baymax balking at breaking the door goes against the movie but jives well with the series, where Baymax did point out that breaking the door down to catch a thief wasn’t an improvement. And he is going for a Sunday stroll, since that’s the day the fic is on.


	12. House of Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Let's say we up and left this town,  
>  And turned our future upside down.  
> We'll make pretend that you and me,  
> Lived ever after happily."_
> 
> \--"House of Gold" by Twenty-One Pilots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12, everybody! And happy Good Friday! :D
> 
>  
> 
> Big Hero 6 © 2014 Disney
> 
> Gravity Falls © 2012 Alex Hirsch; Disney

Well _this_ night could have gone better.

Let’s try to figure out just when it went sideways, shall we?  Oh yes, when that stupid robot decided to call in the calvary without double-checking with them.  They probably could have gotten the drop on that tech-thief if this gaggle of collegians hadn’t blundered in.

So now here they were, no lead, no mask—no car, Wasabi was fixating on that as opposed to his near-death experience—squelching through San Fransokyo sometime around midnight, soaking wet and freezing, following a Californian surfer dude who _might_ still have all his brain cells?  Did he miss anything?

Oh right—no armor, and with him soaked to the bone and colder than he could ever remember.  Sure, he had spent some nights on the street, but Obake had never spent those nights on the street after taking a dive in the bay.  Oh yeah, and literally nothing he was wearing right now was comfortable soaking wet.  And possibly heading somewhere where the floor was no longer visible under three layers of underwear and pizza boxes.  Not that he hadn’t been in worse places, but he’d rather not when his wet clothes would attract whatever lived in such a petri dish.

Glance at Hiro, preferably to get his attention and lead him somewhere else—Hiro was looking down, arms crossed tight trying to keep the heat in, expression scrunched up.  Oh good, so it wasn’t just him.  Look around, try to figure out if they were near someplace he knew, and if said place still counted as a safe house—it had been well over a month since he had checked the last one, so he didn’t know—blinked when he realized they were in a well-to-do neighborhood.  Very upper-crust, very much the sort of place a person targeted when they wanted to line their pockets quickly.  Either they were cutting through the neighborhood, or….

His estimate of Fred shot up several pegs when he went up to one of the doors—he wouldn’t have guessed that Fred would know enough schemes or lockpicking techniques to warrant the stop.  Or maybe the owners left their keys under the doormat, the fools.

“Uh, Fred?” Wasabi asked, taking note of their location as well.  “What are you doing?”

Fred stopped—turned to face them.  “Oh right—welcome to _mi casa!_  That’s French for _front door.”_

“It’s actually…not,” Honey Lemon said gingerly, like she was smothering the knee-jerk _you idiot_ response.

Gogo had no such reservations.  “Listen, dingus—we just got attacked, we’re soaking wet, we don’t have _time_ for your idiotic—”

The door opened and a butler stepped out—Obake shifted his weight subtly in case he needed to rush the man—

Certainly didn’t expect him to turn to Fred.  “Master Fredrick.”

“Heathcliff!  My main man!” Fred greeted enthusiastically, sharing a fist bump with the butler before waving them in.  “Come on guys—we’ll be safe in here.”

“Indeed sir,” the butler said, keeping his fist up—Obake eyed him as they filed by; Baymax was the only one to humor him on the fist bump, bouncing his own fist against it before going _“Ba-la-la-la.”_

And then he had more pressing things to focus on—like being in the most opulent room he had ever been invited into.

“Wait—Fred, you _live_ here?” Wasabi asked, about as thrown as Obake felt.

“I thought you lived under a bridge,” Gogo said, voicing Obake’s opinion.

“Yeah—live here with the ‘rents,” Fred said, pointing out a portrait as they followed him down a hall.  “They’re currently on vacay at the family island—we should go sometime.  Frolic.”  Turn, clap—doors at the end of the hall slid open—

They followed him into what could most accurately be described as a physical depiction of the inside of Fred’s head, only more organized.

“Wow,” Hiro said—literally the first thing he said since they crawled out of the bay.  “This…is…wow.”

Wasabi and Honey Lemon were stopped by a painting that made Obake glad he only had one eye to foul right now.  “If we weren’t just attacked by a man in a kabuki mask,” Wasabi said, leaning over to give an aside to Honey Lemon, riveted on the painting like a deer is headlights.  “I’d say _this_ was the weirdest thing I ever saw.”

Obake had to agree with that, and the muttered _“My brain hates my eyes right now.”_  Stare at a monster with a note that read _Fred, do not touch—Fred_ , trying to refocus his eye after dealing with that…ugh, the bandage on his face was absolute misery right now—look around, spot Hiro sitting at a low table, head over to him while working at the tape holding the bandaging to his face—

Blink when he realized what Hiro was doing.

Sit, tap his arm, point at the drawing Hiro was working on when he looked up.

“It was on that thing Mr. Kabuki-Mask pulled out of the bay,” Hiro explained, attracting Gogo’s attention.

“What thing?” she asked, coming over.

Now this was interesting—Obake’s distance sight was basically on the fritz until his other eye healed (he hoped), so he hadn’t been able to see any detail as to what the man had been handling.  Look at the first sheet of paper as Hiro sketched out the full item…a bird in a circle.  A sparrow, by the looks of it, considering the split tail.

Further musings were cut off by Baymax flopping down on them.

_“Your body temperatures are still: low,”_  Baymax reported, before starting to heat up.  Well, at least it wasn’t a low battery again—having to deal with that two days in a row would probably drive him to dig up the dead brother to give him a what-for.  Having the rest of the little group flop on Baymax wasn’t much of an improvement though.

“Ah,” Fred sighed.  “It’s like spooning a warm marshmallow.”

Obake decided that Fred was now firmly in the _rob this idiot blind when able_ folder.  Look back at the sketch Hiro finished up in the meantime.

Gogo was evaluating it too.  “So it’s most likely a part of something bigger,” she said.  “I don’t know, we could try completing it in Autodesk….”

Obake considered it, tapped Hiro on the arm—Hiro slid it over, watched as Obake slipped a few pieces of paper under it, extrapolated…curved shape suggested….

“Okay,” Hiro said, looking at the completed sketch.  “So worst-case scenario involves a portal that lets an evil one-eyed pyramid out.”

“I knew this day would come,” Fred said dramatically.

“You knew this day would come?” Wasabi echoed blankly.

“Except….”  Hiro trailed off, picked up the piece of paper with the sparrow drawing, considered it before holding it up.  “Does this mean anything to you guys?”

“OOH—I know!” Fred volunteered, arm shooting up before pointing.   _“It’s a bird.”_

Obake huffed in irritation—was distracted by a knocking at the door.

“I got it,” Fred said, hopping up and running over—the butler was waiting outside.

“I brought refreshments and a first-aid kit, Master Frederick,” the butler said.

“Awesome, Heathcliff—thanks,” Fred said, accepting some of the snacks and leading him to the nearby table.  “You’re the best, man.”

“Indeed, sir,” Heathcliff said.  “Don’t hesitate to ring if you need anything else.”

“Will do!”

“This isn’t the first time you showed up soaking wet in the middle of the night?” Gogo asked.

“Heathcliff is surprisingly solid about these things,” Fred said, bringing some snacks over.  And not answering the question, Obake noted.  “Now where were we?  Ah right— _it’s a bird.”_

At least Hiro was rolling his eyes too.  “ _This_ was on _this.”_  Tap the part of the circle he had drawn.  “The thing Mr. Kabuki-Mask pulled out of the bay.”

“Yeah, while we’re on the topic— _Mr. Kabuki-Mask tried to kill us and I have problems with this,”_  Wasabi said.

“I do too,” Fred said.  “’Mr. Kabuki-Mask’ doesn’t roll off the tongue.  We’re going to need a better name for our first supervillain.”

“First?” Honey Lemon echoed, looking concerned.

“Back to the point,” Gogo said, indicating the bigger drawing Obake had done.  “If this is right…there’s more to whatever that guy’s after.”

“Something he’s obviously willing to kill for,” Honey Lemon said, looking at the drawing.

That shadow was back behind Hiro’s eyes, and Obake had the feeling he wasn’t thinking about their own near-miss tonight.

“He stole my microbots,” Hiro said, steel in his voice.  “And I’m pretty sure he started the SFIT fire.”

Dead silence.

“So we’re dealing with a thief _and_ a murderer,” Gogo said finally.  “Any ideas?”

Oh Obake had ideas—they had tried the cutesy Saturday-morning-cartoon approach; _now_ , they could do it _his_ way: attack from afar, with Mr. Kabuki-Mask none the wiser until ‘his’ microbots turned on him.  Engineer a few up that were laced with a virus, release them into the wild to pollute his multitude, and then….

Look at Hiro—he was pretty sure Hiro wouldn’t mind if this guy just…disappeared.

“Yes,” Fred announced.  “I’m thinking…Yokai.  It’s short, simple, easy to remember.”  At the blank looks he got: “For the guy’s supervillain name—I told you, _Mr. Kabuki-Mask_ is too wordy.”

Gogo seemed to be nursing a headache now.  “Ideas.  On what.  To _do_ with this guy.”

Obake raised a hand.

“That _don’t_ involve murder.”

Obake lowered his hand.

“Now hold it,” Wasabi interjected.  “Why are we even discussing this?  A guy literally just tried to _kill us_ — _why_ aren’t we calling the police?!”

“Because they didn’t believe us the _last_ time we told them about this guy,” Hiro said sternly, as Baymax toddled over to the first-aid kit.  “We found him yesterday, told the police, and they did a whole lot of nothing about him.”

“Classic plot point, adults slash authority figures never believe the heroes when they tell them about the looming evil on the horizon,” Fred said, hands spread.

“They wouldn’t believe us now?” Honey Lemon asked.  “There’s six of us—seven if you count Baymax—that’s a lot of witnesses.”

Obake tapped Hiro on the arm, shook his head.

“That’s a point,” Hiro muttered, drumming his fingers on the table.  “Even if we _did_ tell the police, and even if they _did_ believe us…they’d still be going up against my microbots.”

Gogo was eyeing Obake, like she sensed the murder-thing had been serious.  “So we find a way to counter the microbots.”

“We have a way,” Hiro said, a little stiffly.  “We get the mask from the guy.  The neurotransmitter has to be in it—we get the mask, it’s game over.”

“But how would we even get close?” Honey Lemon asked.

“How would we even— _WHY are we having this conversation that guy just tried to kill us why aren’t we discussing moving across country!?” _ Wasabi demanded.

Well Obake didn’t know about the rest of them, but he took an attempt on his life _very_ seriously.  And considering Hiro….

This man started the SFIT fire.

This man murdered the dead brother.

This man didn’t realize how dead he was.   And that was _before_ Obake factored in his own beef with the man.

“Look,” Hiro said, standing up—Obake shifted to follow, hopefully this signaled getting out of geek central and off to more pressing matters, like proper revenge.  “We had a plan to get this guy, we can just…no we can’t,” Hiro sighed, massaging his head.  “I lost the microbot we were using to track him.”

“So now Mr. Murder-Us could be anywhere and we wouldn’t know it,” Wasabi said.

“Yokai,” Fred mock-whispered to him.

“Whatever,” Wasabi said, waving him off.  “My point is, he could be _anyone_ and we’d never know!”

Hmm, this was a point…but the microbots seemed to have a good range, so….

And then the robot started listing various health points about Mr. Kabuki-Mask…Yokai.  Fine, Fred had a point, _Mr. Kabuki-Mask_ was too wordy.

But what the robot was doing….

“Baymax,” Hiro interrupted.  “You—you _scanned_ him?”

_“It is my job to scan all patients,”_   Baymax said.

Hiro was shaking—Obake could practically _see_ a plan under that mess of hair.  “That’s it!  We use Baymax’s scanner— _that’s_ how we’ll find that guy!”

“Point of order,” Gogo said, half-raising a hand.  “In order to do that, you’d have to scan the _whole_ of San Fransokyo, and that’d take forever—that’d _literally_ take forever.”

“It can’t be _that_ bad,” Fred said.

“Eight million people in the Bay area?”

“Okay, so maybe it is.”

Hiro drummed his fingers against his arms—twitched like he had spotted something, snatched up a toy robot.  “So we upgrade him—upgrade the scanner so he can do the whole city at once.”

“And then what?” Wasabi asked, gesturing.  “Because I feel like I’m the only one who remembers _that this guy tried to kill us!”_

Honey Lemon patted him gently on the shoulder.  “I remember, Wasabi.”

Obake rolled his eye, focused instead on Hiro, who had gone still, staring at some of Fred’s toys behind a glass case.

“Actually,” Hiro said slowly.  “If we’re going to take this guy, we’re going to _all_ need upgrades.”

Do what?

“Come again?” Gogo asked.

Hiro was pacing excitedly now, mind obviously on a tear as he gestured.  “We redo Baymax’s armor again, version 2.0, make _us_ some armor too—”

“Woah woah woah _wait_ a _minute!”_  Wasabi interjected.  “Go back a minute— _what_ , exactly, are you proposing?”

“That we all suit up in an excellent musical number and go defeat a supervillain?” Fred asked, looking like he was about to vibrate apart from glee.  “Because I am _TOTALLY FOR THAT.”_

_“We can’t go out and FIGHT that guy! We’re nerds!”_

Hiro was grinning now as he looked at them—still with that shadow in his eyes, but something else too.  “No.  You can be _way more.”_

Gogo and Honey Lemon exchanged glances, looked at Hiro.

“Tadashi was our friend,” Honey Lemon said, wringing her hands before standing.  “I’ll help, Hiro.”

“I will too,” Gogo agreed.

“YES YES A THOUSAND TIMES _YES!”_   Fred cheered, actually falling out of his chair—Baymax waddled over to him.

Everyone looked at Wasabi, who sagged and sighed.  “I mean, yeah,” he said.  “I have problems with going toe-to-toe with someone who tried to kill us, but I’m in.”

Hiro looked at Obake hopefully.

Obake sighed—he could have really done without this nerd herd, but disregarding them for a moment…yes, he still wanted revenge, and he was sure Hiro would too.

He was also certain he could divorce Hiro from these people, given the chance.  Finally nod, earning a beaming smile from Hiro.

“Yes!” Fred said, jumping back upright as Obake wrote something down and handed it to Hiro.  “You guys feeling it?  _OUR ORIGIN STORY IS UPON US!”_

Hiro looked Fred’s heroic pose up and down before reading what Obake had written: _NOW look what you’ve started. _ Gave Obake an apologetic shrug.  Whatever.

These goons wouldn’t last long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Kabuki-Mask is technically called Yokai in all the promotional and side stuff, but he's never referred to that in the movie—so here's how I avoid typing Mr. Kabuki-Mask for more than one chapter. ^^; And since Fred is the one who likes giving the superhero names, he's the one who gets it. Also, Heathcliff is so used to Fredrickson antics I swear.
> 
> In other news, Autodesk is a whole platform of 3D programs that most likely were used to make every CGI film and video game you've ever seen, Big Hero 6 included (ever heard of Maya or 3DS Max? Both Autodesk). I have a student version from Westwood College Online, and my Dad has used it at work for the same reason Gogo gives.
> 
> And I headcanon that Hiro got real into Gravity Falls and probably worried Tadashi to death—I finally got around to watching that show last year (2019—yes, I'm slow), and the first episode I watched in full was the shapeshifter episode. My first reaction: what is this this is not a kid's show HOW IS THIS ON THE DISNEY CHANNEL WTF!?
> 
> *ahem* Anyway...Fred and Wasabi have an exchange from the Kim Possible episode "Bonding"—finding out that the Big Hero 6 series was done by the same people that did Kim Possible did a LOT as far as getting me to tune in at first.
> 
> As far as the population of the Bay area is concerned…I looked it up for a different BH6 fic and it kind of stuck with me—that's a lot of people in a small area, guys.


	13. We Could Be Immortals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"They say we are what we are  
>  But we don't have to be--  
> I'm bad behavior but I do it in the best way!  
> I'll be the watcher  
> Of the eternal flame  
> I'll be the guard dog of all your fever dreams--  
> I am the sandy-bottom-half of the hourglass--  
> I try to picture me without you but I can't."_
> 
> \--"Immortals" by Fall Out Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 13, everybody! What a lucky number. And now it’s time for our musical number….
> 
> Big Hero 6 © 2014 Disney

They slept over at Fred’s house before running back to the Hamada garage after breakfast—which wasn’t that far, surprisingly, especially by limo.

“Okay, I could get used to this,” Wasabi said, patting the cushions.  “Everything’s nice and clean, stitching looks good….”

“We have a sunroof,” Fred put in.  “Which, limo law, everyone has to try at least once.”

Hiro crawled up upon his turn coming up, leaned on his elbows on the roof and lifted his neck to the wind, eyes lidded against the wind and the early morning light.  Glance to the side when Obake climbed up, fresh bandaging on the side of his face courtesy of Baymax.

“Don’t forget a _woo-oo!”_   Fred added.  “It’s obligatory!”

Hiro obliged, shooting his arms up for good measure—elbowed Obake, who lifted a fist and waved it in a circle without enthusiasm.

“Hey,” Hiro said, nudging him.  “At least try?”

Obake glared at him, very pointedly mouthed _you OWE me._ All right, that was fair—drop back into the limo, Obake following a short moment later.

Aunt Cass had been called last night, told a big honking fib about how Fred had swung by the garage last night and invited them to the arcade and one thing led to the other and they all ended up sleeping over at Fred’s place _by the way can we sleep over you haven’t answered the phone that’s a yes love you bye!_   Hiro was _not_ looking forward to the riot act they’d be getting.

At least Fred was amenable to being thrown under the bus.

Indeed, Hiro could tell that in the middle of the whole _I can’t BELIEVE you why didn’t you call earlier would it have KILLED you to stick your head in and tell me_ that she was happy he had gotten out of the house, that he was interacting with people, seemed calmer after giving them some breakfast and okay with him asking if they could take it in the garage since the café was so busy.

And once they were in the garage with their moments of silence observed, they could get started on the important stuff.

“Okay,” Hiro said, as Baymax put his information on Yokai on a computer screen.  “What did we learn last night?”

“That there’s someone out there who wants us dead?” Wasabi asked, hand half-raised.  “I’m sorry, I’m still kind of stuck on that point.”

“And that’s a fair point.  Anyone else?”

“That he’s obviously a supervillain because of the outfit and sinister intentions,” Fred put in.

“That he stole Hiro’s microbots, which we didn’t tell anyone about and which no one knew about until the expo,” Gogo said.  “Which means he was _at_ the expo.”

“Great—so he could be someone we know,” Wasabi said.

“I have a theory about that,” Fred said, leaning around Wasabi dramatically.

Fred’s theory wasn’t any clearer once he had distributed his reading material.  Nor was it any clearer when he started explaining the various characters featured.

“The _point,_ Fred,” Gogo snapped finally.

“The _point_ is, all of these supervillains have the rich-person secret identity—which brings us to the hypothesis my evidence is supporting: Yokai is, in reality—drumroll please thank you Baymax— _Alister Krei.”_

Dead silence followed this declaration.

“Wait, what?” Hiro asked finally.

“Think about it,” Fred said, pointing at him.  “He offered to buy your microbots, but you turned him down.  Except the word _no_ doesn’t apply to people like _him.”_

“But why would Krei do this?” Honey Lemon asked.  “Why would Krei do any of this?”

“Power, mostly—possibly money, other reasons…I’m sure it’ll all get explained to us during the villainous monologue.”

Obake nudged Hiro, shook his head.

“I’m not sure about this,” Hiro said, putting the comic book on a nearby table—Fred quickly scooped it back into its plastic covering.  “But I’m with Fred, I’m sure it’ll get explained _after_ we catch the guy.”

“Still a little unsure on the _how_ of that,” Wasabi pointed out.

Hiro couldn’t help the grin.  “I have some ideas.”

 

Hiro’s ideas mostly involved taking everyone’s school projects and turning them into offensive weapons—like how he had turned Professor Callaghan’s robot concept to bot-fighting and then rendered it down to microbots.  Coming up with an idea from a dry well like he had when brainstorming for the expo left him frustrated, but when he had a preexisting concept to fuss with…well.

The first day was spent brainstorming ideas with everyone, getting the basic concepts of their projects down to mess around with, scanning everybody so he had body types to work with when coming up with the armor—Fred and Heathcliff ran everyone to their various places so they could pick up their projects to work with in the garage.

In the meantime, Baymax 2.0.

“I don’t know, I’m still not feeling the spikes,” Hiro said, considering the fresh design they had drafted up, this time with more of a concept of evading the microbots instead of trying to power through them—that design had been made with haste, worry that the guy would slip away to never be found fueling the need to do it quick and dirty.  Now that they knew Baymax could track him down wherever….

Now they had the luxury of puzzling through everything, to make the perfect robot to trap this guy and make him pay.

Obake rolled his eye, fiddled with a couple of different components on the computer—designing with him felt like an oddly epic game of tennis, where he’d hit over a blistering idea to get it served back at him with more speed, volleying it back and forth and giving it more weight and refinement and just sheer awesomeness—

He was honestly startled when the others came back—he hadn’t realized they had been gone that long.  It didn’t _feel_ like that long.

They went deep into the night discussing the nitty-gritty of their various projects, Aunt Cass finally coming out and saying she had done up the living room for a sleepover _because I can’t imagine any of you heading home at one-thirty in the morning GUYS SLEEP PATTERNS PLEASE_ (which Baymax agreed with).  And then muted brainstorming in the living room because they were still going too hard to quit.  It took _hours_ to actually fall asleep, it felt like.

Aunt Cass had concerns when she brought them breakfast the next morning.

“Please tell me you guys don’t always do this,” she said as they dragged themselves back to the realm of the living.

“Sleep is for the weak I have a GPA to maintain,” Gogo said, feeling around before Heathcliff stopped her wrist and put a mug of coffee in her hand.  “Thanks.”

“Indeed, Madame Gogo,” Heathcliff said, arching an eyebrow when she downed half of it in one swig.  “I’ll just be fetching the refill then.”

“Would you?”

_“Eight to ten hours of sleep is the recommended time for most healthy individuals,”_   Baymax put in, carrying a tray of breakfast foods.  _“A proper night’s sleep is important for healthy brain activity.”_

“We’ll work on it,” Hiro muttered—blinked when Obake waved at Aunt Cass.

Aunt Cass had put down the tray and picked up her coffee mug, leaned over seeming politely confused—

All the way confused when Obake took her mug and drained it in one go.

Gogo blinked blearily at him before apparently coming to a conclusion.

“Oh it’s on.”

 

After breakfast and Gogo and Obake going through a carafe of coffee on their own and the rest of them adjusting to the concept of Heathcliff helping in the café while they worked (which seemed most baffling to Aunt Cass), they got to work on the next step of the grand scheme.

That is, figuring out how to weaponize everyone’s projects.

Hiro started with Wasabi, since his lasers already had the obvious potential—listen as Wasabi explained and showed how they worked, figured out how to make them into something transportable that could be turned on and off, machining it up….

“Now I guess the next problem is finding a place to test it,” Hiro said.

“No problemo, we can do it at my place,” Fred volunteered.

“Great,” Hiro said, sticking his head into the house to look into the café—for a Tuesday it was packed.  “Except I think Heathcliff’s tied up.”

“That’s okay we can work on _my_ costume!”

Fred _was_ one of the big question marks, since he didn’t have a project he was working on at SFIT—sort through some ideas while the 3D printer handled Wasabi’s armor, let Fred down easy when he pointed out that none of them were geneticists and none of them had access to radioactive material.

“But I _do_ have an idea,” he assured him.

 

_That_ described their next couple of days—by the end of the first they had something for Wasabi, Gogo, and Honey Lemon to test out, 3D printer working overtime with Obake ironing out the coding.

And then testing everything in Fred’s backyard (which was too base a term but what the hey) with Heathcliff playing Yokai so they had a target.  He seemed to be taking this all in stride, at least.

Hiro, Obake, and Baymax went back home after three successful tests, ironing out one or two kinks and making some headway on Baymax 2.0.  Going with red on his armor—everyone’s armor was color-coded so they could keep it straight when they pulled it out of the printer.

Another thing they were working on: Hiro’s armor.  Because Hiro _fully_ intended to get up close and personal with this guy.  Once they got his mask he’d be a sitting duck, and with a big robot backing him, he felt pretty confident about getting in the guy’s face and giving him ALL the what-fors.

Obake was great to work with on this—Obake would identify weaknesses, scribble down a different concept, was easy to build off of and killer at coding.

Obake was also resolutely _not_ suggesting anything for his own armor, despite dropping hints that they go test Hiro and Baymax’s armor when they were finished.

Obake was definitely in for a surprise.

The first germ of an idea came from poking around on that little purple drive with the weird one-eyed monster decal on it, that was currently plugged into the computer Obake was spending the most time on—that was a mistake, he opened up the wrong file and a virus started eating through the computer before Obake stopped it, fixed it, and glared at Hiro.

“Geez, sorry,” Hiro said, leaning away with hands up.  “Didn’t realize you were keeping Keramon in there.”

Confusion flickered through Obake’s expression.

“Keramon—from _Digimon,_ there was a movie…nevermind,” Hiro said, waving him off.  Point at the flash drive.  “What is that then?”

Obake scribbled a short note on the notepad: _Personal.  Dangerous.  Do not touch._

“Funnily enough, I got that.  What, is it nothing but viruses?”

Obake considered, waffled a hand, went back to work.  Hmph.

But he had a very convenient way to get back at him.

So, in between machining up designs with the others and testing them out, he had a different set of armor he was designing and making, disguising it in-between working on the others’ outfits—finally finished up Fred’s costume, he was going to love it—

Fred did, he totally loved the costume and absolutely refused to take it off—at least Hiro was assured it was going through some rigorous stress-testing.  As for the last handful of designs….

Purple had been tempting, would have been too on the nose—

_What kind of name was ‘Ghost’ anyway?_

White and black worked, as colors of death and bad luck, he’d appreciate the irony—red as the highlight color, matching the decal on his virus-drive.  Use one of their early-draft ideas for Hiro’s outfit for the gloves….

But in the meantime: Baymax 2.0 was finally ready for testing.

Hiro was practically bouncing with excitement—they had sent everyone else ahead to Fred’s place to keep stress-testing their costumes (Obake’s idea)—now it was _their_ turn.  Grab his own helmet—

“So?” he asked Obake.  “Ready to suit up and wow the others?”

Obake didn’t seem convinced.

“What, afraid to test out our cool new tech?” Hiro asked, pulling his helmet on.  “Ready, Baymax?”

Baymax looked down at the shiny new armor he had been shoehorned into—bigger, bulkier, more heroic-shaped, sleek and shiny and red, stronger scanner and smoothed-out coding they were absolutely going to _destroy_ Yokai when they found him and there was no escaping them _this time_ they had ROCKET FISTS and BOOSTERS this was going to TOTALLY.   _ROCK._

_“My: prior concerns, still stand,”_   Baymax decided.  _“I fail to see how: flying, makes me a better healthcare companion.”_

“And _I_ fail to see how _you_ fail to see how _awesome_ it is!”

_“I do not see how that affects my healthcare capabilities.”_

“Oh brother,” Hiro muttered, rolling his eyes and nudging Obake.   _“Come on,_ humor me—or do you want to run over there and see everyone’s faces when we come in for a landing?”

Now Obake seemed concerned, doubly so when Hiro climbed up on Baymax’s back and directed him into the alley—pretty sure they had enough room to test out the rocket thrusters _this was SO going to ROCK_ —

“What?” Hiro had to ask, smug as he leaned on Baymax’s shoulder.  “No faith in our totally awesome tech?”

Obake grimaced, ran back to get his notepad, scribbled something down as he came back, held it up: _Your aunt Cass will HEAR THIS.  _‘Hear this’ double-underlined, wow.

“We will be _totally_ fine!  She’ll think it’s a plane or car or something.”

_Wouldn’t it be better to test remotely?  And NOT from your back alley?  Where it can be traced BACK to you?_

_“Testing remotely: would be safer,”_   Baymax agreed.

“You guys worry too much,” Hiro said.  “Here, I’ll show you—Baymax: wings!”

Baymax stood at attention, accessed the pertinent programming—wings shot out.  Hiro could already see Fred totally geeking out.  “Great!  Now, rocket boosters!  Let’s go!”

Actually got off the ground _this was working they were flying the others would be SO STOKED when they came in for a landing—_

So maybe there was _one_ hiccup in the programming, considering Baymax’s belly-flop—

And then they were rocketing down the alley, out into traffic, down the street—barely had a concept of startling Lonnie so bad his groceries went flying—

“ _AAAAH UP UP UP UP—”_   Baymax angled to obey— _“No wait too high TOO HIGH—”_

Several terrifying moments later, and Baymax was perched on one of the Golden Gate towers, Hiro clinging tight to his back and trying for deep calming breaths.

“Okay,” he wheezed finally, dizzy from relief, adrenaline, fear…take your pick.  “That was…okay.”

Baymax was looking at him.   _“Your neurolevels are: elevated, and you are showing signs of increased: adrenaline, and serotonin.”_

Hiro blinked at him.  “Meaning?”

Baymax blinked, turned his head.  _“It means the treatment is working.”_

“What?  Wait _nononononoBAYMAAAAAX!”_   Was _totally_ not ready for Baymax to tip off of the bridge, plummet to the bay—

And then take him on what had to be the most _incredible_ joyride ever.

It was…amazing.  It felt like they were actually outrunning that dark fugue that had settled in on Hiro ever since the fire—soaring through the glittering cityscape of San Fransokyo, threading through the tether ropes of the turbines, outpacing an express train, doing loop-de-loops around signs about the city, circling a gleaming glass building—

For a moment, he had a memory of Tadashi that wasn’t laced through with pain, of the last time they had to outrun angry bot-fighters and they had caught air on the moped.  For a moment, it felt like all that darkness had been left behind in the wake of their booster rockets.

For a moment, at least, he was free.

They finally came in for a landing on one of the fish-kite-patterned turbines, giving Hiro a chance to catch his breath, to process the whole thing….

“That.  Was.  _AWESOME,”_   he said finally, leaning against Baymax and enjoying the view.  “I.  Am.  _NEVER_ taking the bus again.  _Ever.”_

Baymax considered him after a few blissful minutes.  _“Your: mental health, has improved.  If you are satisfied with your care—”_

“What?  No wait no,” Hiro said, bouncing up to face Baymax.  “We still have to get that guy, remember?  Come on, let’s see how your scanner works.”

Baymax blinked, stood, looked around—

_“Scanner capacity at: five-thousand percent,”_   Baymax announced.  _“Scanning now.”_

Hiro kept clenching and unclenching his fists—this was going to work, this _had_ to work, _please_ let it work—

_“Scan complete,”_  Baymax announced.  _“The man in the kabuki mask, is over there.”_   Point.  Hiro looked— _“On that island.”_

It wasn’t big enough to be Alcatraz, and they were at a wrong angle to see Angel Island—

That left the dark little bit of land, big enough to house a forest—

And, just barely catching the light of the setting sun—some sort of compound, that at usual angles would be hidden from view.

Yokai was on Akuma Island.

“Yes!” Hiro cheered, scrambling back onto Baymax’s back.  “Come on, Baymax—let’s go get the others!  Obake first, okay?”

Couldn’t help looking back as they sped back home—soon, they’d get that guy.  Soon, they’d avenge Tadashi.

But first, they needed the rest of the team.

But first, they needed to get the last member ready.  And with everyone together….

That guy wouldn’t know what hit him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor correction from my discussion last chapter—my Dad uses AutoCAD at work. But! AutoCAD is part of the Autodesk library, so it still works. :)
> 
> The "Sleep is for the weak" line has seen appearances in some of my other BH6 fics—and Obake's coffee reaction is based on Goob's from Meet the Robinsons. In other news, Aunt Cass is now joining Baymax in scolding me on my sleep patterns. :| And I LIKE the Digimon movie fite me.
> 
> Also, two logistical issues: one, what was Heathcliff doing during the costume-making if he shuttled the kids back and forth, and two…the costumes are machined up in the garage and tested at Fred’s place. Say they’re at least a couple of blocks apart to account for the change in neighborhoods. HOW did these kids get everything transported without attracting attention guys please don’t take notes from Gizmoduck PLEASE.
> 
> In other news…been looking at maps of San Francisco for my various BH6 fanfics—the island was never named in the movie but referred to as Akuma Island in the series. Angel Island is a real island in the San Fran Bay, and Alcatraz—the one everyone knows—has to exist in the BH6-verse because there’s a poster of it in Hiro’s bedroom. And in this ‘verse at least, we get all three because I don’t think even Disney has the budget to blow up important landmarks.


End file.
